A New Dawn Over Devon (57 page)

As they were talking Stirling had been looking over some of the other items on the shelves on the wall of the vault, and was now examining the pocket watch.

“Look at this,” he said. “It's engraved on the back with the initials
B.R
.”

A few glances went around.

“
Broughton Rutherford?
” suggested Amanda, looking at Catharine. “What do you think?”

“Who was he?” asked Stirling.

“Our great-grandfather's uncle,” replied Catharine. “He lived at the end of the eighteenth century.”

“That would fit,” said Langham. “If he is the one who brought this box here, then he must have been trying to hide it. If he somehow managed to steal this treasure from Turkish pirates or smugglers, he had good reason to be afraid.”

“And look at this knife,” said Stirling, who had continued to examine the items on the shelves as the others were musing on the origin of the treasure. “Here's a name . . .
Rufus Powel
l . . . on the handle.”

“Powell!” exclaimed both Catharine and Amanda nearly at once.

“I take it you know the name,” said Langham.

“Yes—they are a powerful Devonshire family,” said Amanda. “Their estate once bordered Heathersleigh.”

“Isn't there a rumor about some old Powell being murdered?” asked Catharine.

“It does sound familiar, now that you mention it,” remarked Amanda. “I wonder how he and Broughton Rutherford were connected.”

“And didn't Lord Henry's uncle die suddenly, Amanda?” asked Catharine.

“I think so. Then Lord Henry inherited. But that's strange, now that I think about it. Remember Daddy telling us that Lord Henry had been forced to sell off part of the estate?”

“Right—that's how the cottage got into Bishop Crompton's hands.”

“Obviously, then, Lord Henry never knew about this treasure.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Stirling.

“If he had known, he would have used this instead of selling land to raise cash.”

“Which means—wait . . . Amanda, remember that chest George found,” said Catharine, “the one that had the ship's logs and other old records in it? I wonder if it contains any clues.”

“Where is it?” asked Stirling.

“In an old storeroom in the west wing—that is, unless Geoffrey did something with it.”

“I doubt that,” said Amanda. “Let's go have a look.”

“What should we do with this chest?” asked Stirling.

“Bring it!” replied Amanda.

Ten minutes later they were poring over the chest that had first led George to the discovery of the hidden passages, half its contents on the floor, including journals, papers, a few books, and an old diary Amanda was already engrossed in, with the name Jeremiah Rutherford stamped in gold on the front of its leather cover.

“By the way, Amanda,” said Stirling at length, “what did Geoffrey say in his letter?”

Amanda smiled. “It's mostly instructions about what his drawing meant and where to find the concealed lock,” she replied. “He said he didn't want to make it known until I was again in possession of the Hall, because of his father. He said he wanted me to have it.”

Amanda paused and dabbed once or twice at her eyes.

“The rest of it is personal,” she added. “He . . . well, he just told me that he loved me and hoped I would be happy.”

She paused, then added, “I am really going to miss him.”

It was silent another moment. Stirling nodded. So would he.

“How much do you think is here?” asked Catharine, ever the pragmatist. “What do you think it is worth, Terrill?”

“There would be the historical value to consider,” he replied, “as well as the pure value of the gold itself.”

“What about the diamonds?”

“I'm not sure they would have any antique worth—but they are no doubt valuable enough in their own right.”

“What do you think, then—how much is it all worth?”

“I don't know . . . a good sum.”

“How do we . . . but . . . is it
ours
?” asked Amanda.

“Who else would it belong to after a hundred and fifty years?” said Catharine.

“Wherever the pirates got it from,” added Terrill, “there is no way to know. This is one of those legitimate cases where possession
truly is nine-tenths of the law. This sort of thing is not all that uncommon, actually, and absent clear right of ownership, those making the discovery are always entitled to keep what they have found. But you might consult a solicitor just to set your mind at ease.”

“Supposing it is ours . . .
mine
,” said Amanda, “what should we do with it?”

“If you like,” said Terrill, “I will take some samples back to Plymouth and talk to some people—antique dealers, collectors, historians, one or two museums.”

“Yes . . . I would appreciate that,” nodded Amanda. “But right now I think we should go downstairs and tell the others. We can ask Mr. Crumholtz about it immediately.”

As they walked into the lounge a few minutes later, where Jocelyn, Timothy, and Mr. Crumholtz had already finished their first cup of tea, Jocelyn glanced up with surprise.

“What have you four been up to?” she asked. “I heard tromping, running footsteps, a few shrieks, then nothing for the last half an hour. I began to wonder if you had disappeared into one of George's secret passages.”

“Mother,” said Amanda with a smile as she came forward, “we have something to show you.”

 100 
More Stratagems

Catharine and Terrill returned to Plymouth the following day, taking with them several of the Turkish gold ducats.

That same morning Jocelyn, Amanda, Stirling, and Timothy spent quietly passing through the community, individually visiting all those they knew had been affected by the bank's call notices, telling them to have hope, be patient, and not do anything rash. They were continuing to do what they could, they assured them, to resolve the situation. But they could not do so without everyone's peaceful cooperation. Most of the people consented. They had always been able to depend on Sir Charles and Lady Jocelyn and would not stop now, even though matters looked dark and hopeless.

In early afternoon two days later, Amanda and Jocelyn left for Exeter. After visiting with Mr. Crumholtz again, and obtaining from him names of several reputable jewelers in the city, the following morning they first visited a bank of Mr. Crumholtz's recommendation, then boarded the train for London.

Their first order of business in the great metropolis was to consult with the diamond dealers.

Their second was a visit to the headquarters of the Bank of London. There they asked to be allowed to see the President.

After they explained their relationship to a certain one of the bank's vice-presidents and late manager of its Milverscombe branch, as well as to the late Sir Charles Rutherford, they were at last shown
into the expansive fifth-floor office of Mr. Giles Fotheringay. Amanda was amazed to see her mother walk into the private room with such confidence.

“Hello, Mr. Fotheringay, I am Jocelyn Rutherford,” began Jocelyn. “This is my daughter Amanda. I am the wife of the late Charles Rutherford, who was your own Gifford Rutherford's first cousin.”

“So I have been given to understand,” replied Fotheringay. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He shook both their hands, then sat down behind his desk.

“What may I do for you, Lady Rutherford?” he asked.

“Simply answer a few questions, if you do not mind.”

“I will do so to the extent I am able.”

“I mean no disrespect,” Jocelyn went on, “and if you answer yes, you need have no fear of my reaction—we will leave peaceably—”

As she spoke Fotheringay stared at her with a puzzled, though concerned, expression.

“—but what I have to ask you is this,” Jocelyn continued, “—are you aware, or is it by your, that is the bank's directive, that the town of Milverscombe in Devonshire, where your bank opened a branch three years ago under the management of Mr. Rutherford's son Geoffrey . . . that this town is about to be financially ruined?”

“I am sorry, Lady Rutherford,” said the bewildered Fotheringay, “but it would appear I am at a disadvantage, as the situation you refer to is not one with which I am familiar.”

“I am trying to learn,” Jocelyn went on, “whether Gifford Rutherford is operating under your orders to call due every loan made by the Milverscombe bank since its opening. The loans
have
been called due, and not one of the local residents will be able to pay off the notes within thirty days. Most will be ruined as a result. If this directive comes from London . . . from you, sir,” she added, “I do not think it the kind of policy that will enhance your reputation should the public learn of it. The banking business, as I think you understand, is based on trust. I doubt the public will desire to place its trust in an institution that cares so little for the welfare and financial security of all its customers in an entire community.”

Fotheringay shook his head in continued perplexity.

“Of course, of course, Lady Rutherford,” he said, “but I assure you that I haven't an idea what you are talking about. I would appreciate it if you would be so good as to explain.”

Jocelyn went on to give him the details of what had taken place in Milverscombe during the course of the week.

“Well,” said Fotheringay when she was through, “these are grave charges. Now I begin to understand why you are so upset. It may well be, however, that Mr. Rutherford is exercising a legitimate option under the terms of the notes as drawn, in a manner he deems in the best interests of the bank.”

“I am certain he has done nothing illegal or unethical according to the letter of the law,” said Jocelyn. “I only question whether his judgment in the matter is in the best long-term interest of the bank's public reputation.”

“Yes . . . yes, I see.”

Fotheringay knew well enough what effect a letter to the
Times
by one such as Charles Rutherford's widow would have on depositor confidence. The bank could certainly not run the risk of letting this complaint escalate publicly.

“I assure you,” he said, “that we at the London branch did not authorize such a course of action on Mr. Rutherford's part. That is not to say that we do not find call notices occasionally necessary, but such a wholesale call inflicted upon an entire community . . . yes, I see the difficulty. Believe me, we will look into the matter. I will telephone Mr. Rutherford immediately and—”

“Please, Mr. Fotheringay,” said Jocelyn, “if you could allow us to handle matters for a short time in our own way, we would be most appreciative.”

“Under the circumstances, it is the least I can do. Little will change in that time.”

“Thank you,” nodded Jocelyn. She and Amanda rose to leave.

As they descended the stairs a minute later, a smile crept over Amanda's face. “Mother,” she said, “I have never seen you like that in my life. For one who says you used to be afraid to be around people, you had that poor man trembling in fear.”

“I can fight if I have to,” smiled Jocelyn, “especially if it's for someone else.”

 101 
Payoff

Two days before the thirty-day deadline and scheduled public auction of the assets of Heathersleigh Hall, Amanda Rutherford walked through the doors of the Milverscombe bank.

She made her way straight to Gifford's desk and set down in front of him a cashier's check, drawn on an Exeter bank, for £14,500.

“I believe this should clear off the outstanding balance on Heathersleigh Hall,” she said. “When you have calculated the accrued interest due, I will write you a personal check on my account to cover it.”

“What . . . what
is
this?” huffed Gifford, picking up the check and giving it a cursory glance. “Is this your idea of a joke? I know well enough that you haven't anything close to such an amount in your account.”

“Do you make it a practice to pry into the finances of your customers?”

“It's just that—”

“It is no matter,” said Amanda. “As you can see, this check is drawn on my account in Exeter. I am sure you will find that there are ample funds to cover it. Good day, Cousin Gifford.”

Chagrinned, Gifford watched as she turned and walked toward the door. Slowly it was dawning on him that he was apparently going to be denied yet again being able to get his hands on the place.

“There are still the call notices on the other loans,” he called after her angrily, as if to remind her that whatever she did, he still held the fate of the rest of the town in his hands.

Amanda paused and glanced back.

“We shall see, Cousin Gifford,” she said. “We shall see.”

Amanda and Jocelyn's most recent visit, with Stirling accompanying them, to the bank in Exeter a few days earlier had had another purpose than only arranging for the cashier's check. Amanda had also withdrawn a large sum of cash, mostly in twenty-, fifty-, and hundred-pound notes. They left immediately for Milverscombe, not wanting to be away from home with such a sum of cash any longer than absolutely necessary.

The evening after her brief interview with Gifford, Amanda and her mother spent visiting all those with pending call notices due on their loans. Every visit was met with the same tearful disbelief and gratitude when Jocelyn extended her hand with a sheaf of cash notes in it.

“But, Lady Jocelyn . . . Lady Amanda,” most of them began, “we cannot accept such generosity.”

“You must not see this as a gift from us,” was Jocelyn's reply. “The money is in fact not ours at all. It is what we think to be a portion of an ill-gotten pirate's or smuggler's treasure hidden for years at the Hall. It does not belong to us more than to anyone else, and the best way to cleanse such wealth and turn it to good is to give it away and turn it to a use that benefits the entire community.”

The following morning, almost from the instant he unlocked the bank's doors, Gifford was greeted with a steady stream, mounting about an hour later to a deluge, of men and women, all asking to see him, then telling him that they had come to pay off their loans according to the terms of the thirty-day call notices they had been sent. Well able to guess the source of this sudden flood of wealth, and furious at being so thoroughly foiled by his cousin's daughter, he had no alternative but to mark every note “Paid in Full.”

What else could he do? The people were carrying in fistfuls of bank notes in cash!

That night the bank of Milverscombe closed its doors with more cash in its safe than at any time since its opening. The next day Jocelyn telephoned Mr. Fotheringay in London, informing him that all the notes had been cleared.

Three days later, still reeling from the week's events and the cash payoff of every single outstanding loan as well as the Heathersleigh mortgage, Gifford Rutherford was yet more stunned to look up from his desk to see Mr. Fotheringay himself, the President of the bank, striding across the floor toward his desk. The look on his face was stormy and unpleasant. Slowly Gifford rose, wondering what this could possibly be about.

“Mr. Rutherford,” said Fotheringay without benefit of any pleasantries, “if I might have a word with you.”

“Of course, Mr. Fotheringay . . . what an unexpected pleasure to welcome you to—”

“Spare me your pleasantries, Mr. Rutherford,” interrupted Fotheringay. “I am afraid it will not be such a pleasure when I inform you that you are relieved of your duties here, effective immediately. Mr. Miles will take over temporarily. As for your future, I will speak with you next week in London. Good day.”

Fotheringay turned and departed as abruptly as he had come, leaving the bank's employees, who had heard every word, standing in stunned silence.

Mortified, Gifford wasted no time in hurrying from the building, turning in the opposite direction the moment he was through the door.

————

If the truth were known, Giles Fotheringay had been awaiting an opportunity to slap Gifford Rutherford's hands for some time. He was furious at what had been done in the matter of the call notices. Even though serious repercussions had been preempted by the payoff, he still considered it a stain on the bank's reputation.

Even as the papers throughout England were full of news and speculation about the enormous discovery made in the garret of Heathersleigh Hall, Gifford was called on the carpet immediately upon his return to London. Fotheringay told him bluntly that he was seriously considering not only demoting him from his vice-presidency but firing him altogether. Pending a final decision, however, he informed Gifford that effective immediately, he was on two-week suspension, without pay.

Gifford slunk from the building in disgrace.

Hearing of what had transpired through Martha, Jocelyn returned to London to plead with Fotheringay to reconsider, making a recommendation to the bank's president which, she said, she was certain would do Gifford more good in the long run than any disciplinary action.

Fotheringay thanked her warmly and promised to consider it.