Imogen Robertson - Island of Bones

His eyes widened. He placed one palm on the rough plaster wall between them, and leaned even closer. ‘I did.’

She spread out her fingers. ‘Was it a little bigger than this? With jewels in it?’

He nodded slowly. ‘What did you see, Lottie?’

‘The master bent over the table with a chisel in his hand. There was something that size, gold, on the table in front of him. I only saw for a moment, but there was a fat clear stone on the table near the door. And he was working away at another.’

Ruben’s mouth set in a line. ‘The bastard. That’s the Luck.’ He grabbed her shoulders and the flame shook. ‘That’s our Luck, Lottie. The Luck of the valley. I’ve been searching for it three years.’

Lottie drew in her breath. ‘The dawn of the day he left this place Lord Greta rowed out to the Island of Bones. Sir William saw him, and told me of it that day. Between then and you coming here, I saw Sir William go there a lot. Always before anyone else was about, or late, and saying nothing.’

Ruben was frowning now. ‘And you never thought to say anything?’

‘I did not know you were looking! And he gave me a shilling to say nothing about Lord Greta going to the Island. Didn’t seem right, and I didn’t know what it might be.’

Ruben released her and put his hand to his chin. ‘You are right, Lottie. Forgive me for speaking sharp.’ Then, after a moment’s pause, ‘You must help me. Take off your apron. We must watch him from the shadows. You stay in the house, watch what you can from the door. I’ll slip out the back and see what I can from the window.’

For a moment the instruction about her apron confused her till she looked down and saw it snowy in the gloom. He was gone towards the kitchen, treading as gentle as a cat, before her fumbling fingers had managed to undo the ties. Then she folded it, stuffed it under the settle, blew out her candle and began to creep into the dark.

They had a long wait of it. Lottie was pressed to the wall beside the office, never daring to look in, but listening to the sound of the chisel. At one moment there was a scrape and a curse from Sir William. Lottie thought her heart would burst out of her chest. She pulled her skirts around her legs and held her breath. The scraping started again, there was a final clink and the sound of the chisel being placed on wood. The office was full of drawers and cupboards and secret places a man might place his money or bonds away from the eyes and fingers of his servants. If Sir William placed the Luck in one of those, they might have to break every lock in the room to retrieve it.

Holding her breath, she inched closer to the hinge of the door, and put an eye to it. Sir William seemed to be looking directly at her, but she managed to fight the desire to flee. No, he was examining the jewels in the candlelight. His face looked set and heavy as he turned a diamond that looked to Lottie the size of a plover’s egg in his fingers. Sharply, he set it down again and drew a little leather purse from a drawer of the desk. Then, one at a time, he placed the jewels within it. Lottie lifted herself on her toes; she could see the Luck itself, naked and golden, its surface full of ridges and hollows. Where the chisel had caught, it was scarred with short lines of brighter metal. Sir William put the purse back into his pocket, and picked up the cross. For a moment he looked around him, then with sudden decision took up his candle and stepped towards the door.

Lottie swung back into the shadows, flattening her spine into the wall and closing her eyes. Sir William did not look round but went straight to the front door, and from his candle lit the lamp that always hung ready in the hall. He pulled the bolts free and stepped out quickly into the night. Lottie gathered up her skirts and followed him. He had not pulled the door to behind him. She closed her eyes for a moment, and said her prayers, then followed.

The light of the lantern bobbed down the path to the edge of the lake. She kept to the shadows, stooped over and moving as quietly as she could. It was a dark night. Hardly a thread of moon, and that part obscured by cloud, and everything painted in dark greys. The path was silent under her and seemed to carry her forward.

Sir William stopped at the lakeshore, then she watched his light bob along the shingle, moving away from the path as she did so, but keeping him in sight. Lottie felt a touch on her shoulder and turned. Ruben was crouched beside her.

‘He has it? I could not tell.’ An owl cried out from the Island of Bones.

‘He does,’ she said as quietly as she could.

Sir William seemed to hesitate a moment. Then he reached into his pocket. A low winding wind shook the trees above them, and the clouds stepped away to let the thin moonlight fall on the man at the edge of the water. He took his hand from his pocket, drew back his arm, and threw. The light caught the Luck like a shooting star. It fell, and the waters swallowed it with a ripple. Lottie felt Ruben’s fingers squeeze on her shoulder, he was as rigid as a pointer. Sir William waited until the disturbance on the surface had died away into the steady blackness of the water, then turned and made his way up towards the house. He passed so close to them Lottie could have reached out and touched him.

‘What are we. .?’

‘Shh!’ Ruben said, his eyes still fixed on the surface of the lake. They heard the door to the house close in the distance, and the scrape of the bolts in the locks slipped down the slope of the path towards them.

Ruben stood up and walked across the shingle to the place where Sir William had stood. Lottie looked around, then hurried along after him. As soon as he reached the spot he began to undress, dropping his clothes on the grey stones, his eyes still fixed on the surface of the water like a man called to the rocks by the Sirens. Lottie turned away, and heard the gentle splash and gurgle of the water as he stepped in. When she turned back he was up to his waist, his white shift making him look like the ghost of a drowned man. As the water reached his shoulders he lifted his arms up into the air, then descended into the darkness. Lottie shivered and watched the spot where he had disappeared. The owl called again, and the surface of the lake settled as if Ruben had never been.

Lottie took a few steps forward, her hand held out. The cold waters met around her ankles icy and gripping. She could feel tears coming into her eyes.

‘Ruben?’ she called, her voice a whisper, rising. Her teeth began to chatter. ‘Ruben?’

The surface broke. He half-swam, half-waded towards her, finally falling on his knees in the shallows. She splashed towards him, put her hands under his arms and began to haul him in. He panted and crawled with her up among the reeds, then collapsed onto his back. Lottie turned to look for his coat. His skin looked blue in the moonlight. She felt his hand grip her ankle; she turned back to him. He laughed softly at her, then lifted his right arm. The Luck. Scarred and dripping, it was held gleaming in his hand.

She reached for his coat and he sat up to let her sling it round his shoulders, then she crouched down beside him.

‘He hurt himself, Sir William I mean, prying out the stones,’ she said, after a little while.

‘That I saw,’ Ruben said, staring down at the Luck cradled in his broad dark hands. ‘First bite the Luck has taken from him, and I doubt it’ll be the last.’ He traced the marks where the stones had sat.

‘What wilt thou do with it, Ruben?’

‘When I can get away she and I will walk the old ways together, Lottie, and rest together between the Druid’s stones. Then I shall hide her, till we need her in dark times, and protect her as we may. This air is hers, this water and these hills and here the Luck will abide.’