Page 15 of Every Duke Has His Thorn
“Do you have updates on the restoration work?”
The architect nodded. “The work on the roof continues. In addition, a craftsman is refitting the patera wood block removed from the frieze of the drawing room fireplace.”
“I should like to see how the repair is progressing.” He wanted to learn more about the architectural elements in his home. Now was a good time to start. “Perhaps we could observe the man at work.”
* * * * *
After Marina paid a small toll, she drove the pony cart over Penworth Bridge, a span crossing the River Ribble.
As the women drove into the village, they were greeted by a lovely view of the twin spires of St. Paul’s Church.
Preston was an unwalled, quaint English village comprised of three main streets: Church Street, Fishergate, and Friargate.
“Where would be the best place to purchase notebooks?” she asked the maid seated next to her.
“The village post office,” Anne replied. “It is ever such a lovely old building.”
The maid directed Marina to the post office and the young woman was correct. It was lovely. She hadn’t expected to see a Tudor-styled building in the village. The post office was well-stocked with all matter of sundries, and she quickly found the notebooks she needed.
After paying for her purchases, she asked Anne, “Shall we stroll through the village green before eating our picnic?”
“That sounds a wonderful idea.”
They piled back into the cart with Marina’s new notebooks and drove a short distance to the village green. She tethered the horse to a nearby tree, and the women walked the perimeter of the large square green space.
After several circuits of the green, Marina spread an old blanket on the ground. She opened the basket Cook provided to find two bottles of lemonade, apples, sliced cold ham and cheese, and crusty rolls.
“This is a treat,” Anne said after taking a bite of ham and washing it down with lemonade. “You’ll spoil me, Miss.”
“Thank you for accompanying me today, Anne. The village is just beautiful. Did you grow up in Lancashire?”
She saw a shadow pass over Anne’s eyes before she replied brightly, “Aye, Miss. Near Winmarleigh. My people are tenant farmers, but I chose to go into service.”
Not wishing to pry, Marina steered the conversation to Barton Hall and the lovely grounds of the estate.
The day was growing warm. They packed up the remainder of their meal and retraced the route back to Barton Hall.
When she returned home, Marina finished reading the history of the house and made notes of any repairs or restoration work that were mentioned. There was a note near the end of the tome which pricked her interest.
The treasure of Barton Hall was a tale told to me by my husband’s father. I have never heard of anyone finding treasure in the hall or on the estate. It is my belief the story of a hidden horde of gold was made up to entertain young children.
She remembered the panels that were loose in several rooms of the hall. The damage to the frieze of the chimneypiece in the drawing room now made sense. Someone was looking for treasure! The steward had disappeared. Had he found the gold?
Despite being employed on the estate for only a few months, Anne might have heard of the treasure.
As she dressed for dinner, Marina asked the maid, “Anne, have you heard anything about a possible treasure hidden in Barton Hall?”
“Oh yes, miss. Legend is there was a cache of gold coins that went missing during the civil war. The Royalists attacked the hall, and the duke’s ancestor, a colonel in the war, hid a small chest of gold destined for the parliamentarian army.”
Marina had seen a mention of one of the duke’s ancestors being a colonel and an MP for Lancashire. The man had fought for the parliament forces. He and his heir died during a subsequent attack on Lancaster Castle, and the hall then passed to the present duke’s line.
Marina wasn’t sure she believed in the existence of a treasure, but she was sure the steward had. She would show her father the entry about the gold horde in the family history and see what he made of it.
* * * * *
“That would explain the loose panels all over the house,” her father said when she spoke to him about the treasure over supper. “Mr. Sparks evidently thought something was hidden in the hall. He was employed on the estate for many years. I wonder what the catalyst was to start looking for it?”
Marina had wondered the same thing.
