he was in his hide waiting for some elephants to show up instead of here at Cornisea, where he was constantly at odds with his father about the castle’s future.
Guinevere turned to the G in the index. ‘Here’s a mention of a goblet, with the designation: of Rose and Stars.’
‘Sounds poetical. Look it up, will you?’ Breaking into motion again, as if he wanted to shake off his sudden sad mood, Oliver grabbed a chunk of cheese and made slices to put on the sandwiches. Dolly came over to him to wait if a bite was forthcoming. Oliver looked down at her and shook his head. Dolly tilted hers and squeaked. She was used to people finding her adorable and caving. But Oliver stayed firm and focused on the sandwiches.
Dolly yapped in indignation and returned to Guinevere, rubbing her head against her leg.
‘Let’s see what it says, girl.’ Guinevere leafed through the yellowing pages to find the number indicated in the index. A scent of dust and dampness rose into her nose. Maybe this book hadn’t been touched for decades. Excitement rushed through her at the idea there might be something interesting hidden between its fading covers. A revelation about an artefact actually here on Cornisea Island.
‘Here it is. The goblet of Rose and Stars. A bejewelled wedding goblet.’ She scanned the explanation to paraphrase for Oliver. ‘These goblets were made from silver and decorated with precious stones if the buyer could afford it. The buyer could be a land owner or a dignitary in a community.’
‘Or the lord of a castle,’ Oliver supplied, gesturing around him with the cheese rasp.
Guinevere nodded. ‘Probably. The goblets were used at wedding ceremonies where both the groom and the bride drank from the goblet to symbolize their new life together. The goblet was kept in the family, passed on from generation to generation. This particular one got the designation of Rose and Stars because it was decorated with both rubies and diamonds.’
Oliver whistled.
Dolly pricked her ears up as if she couldn’t wait to learn more about something so rare.
Guinevere read and paraphrased quickly, ‘It also had an engraved scene on a round emblem like part of the goblet depicting a couple drinking from a goblet. Its exact origins and age are unknown, but it’s taken to be medieval because of the clothing of the couple in the little scene. Oh, here – this is interesting.’
Oliver turned to her and leaned against the sink. ‘What?’
Guinevere ran her finger along the lines, taking in the detailed explanation before her. ‘The goblet is believed to have been stolen by a Lady Anne when she ran away from home to be with a man her parents didn’t approve of. They married, drank from the goblet, and then hid it somewhere in their keep.’
Oliver looked at her. ‘And that particular goblet is supposed to be hidden here? Why Cornisea? It could have been any keep. And Cornwall has a few.’
‘I know.’ Guinevere studied the piece in front of her. ‘It doesn’t give any specific details as to who the parties involved were or what keep was meant. It’s more like a fairy-tale story: once upon a time there was a priceless goblet and a lady ran away with it.’
‘Right. I don’t believe for one moment that the goblet of Rose and Stars ever existed. Let alone that it can be found here.’ Oliver slammed some sandwiches together and stacked them on a plate.
Guinevere stared down at the book, pursing her lips. ‘Wadencourt seems to believe that there is a connection between the goblet and Cornisea Island, or he wouldn’t be here.’
‘Or he’s trying to make himself interesting again.’ Oliver poured the hot water into the teapot. ‘Almost done. We’d better go up and see that Father and dear Gregory haven’t killed each other yet.’
Guinevere cringed at the word choice. ‘I thought they were friends.’
‘They were, but Wadencourt left here after a terrible row. I was just a kid so I have no idea what it was about. Later on it seemed they were on speaking terms again, but I have never found out what they fought about. My father has a great memory for injury.’
Guinevere nodded. ‘Let me take the sandwiches; you take the tea.’
She put the book on the tray beside the plate with sandwiches and left the kitchens.
Dolly came after her, salivating at the idea of treats.
On the way up Guinevere listened for any indication of a row: raised voices, a slamming door. But there was nothing.
In the library she found Bolingbrooke alone. He was standing at the window, staring out across the sea that surrounded Cornisea on all sides with high tide. Rufus, his mastiff, was standing by his side, resting his big head against Bolingbrooke’s thigh.
The dog usually went to his master when he sensed he was sad or distressed, so Guinevere wondered what it was about the reunion with Wadencourt that had shaken her employer. Had their old argument been personal? Was Bolingbrooke reflecting on a friendship he had once valued but lost?
Bolingbrooke turned to her jerkily when he heard the thud of the tray on the table. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ His expression was pensive, even a little weary.
Guinevere asked softly, ‘Did you know Mr Wadencourt was coming out here?’
‘No, not at all.’
The denial came a little too quickly. She narrowed her eyes, studying him. ‘So it was a pure coincidence that this book was waiting for me on top of the pile?’ She held up the volume called A Cornish Treasure Island from which she had paraphrased the information about the goblet of Rose and Stars for Oliver.
Bolingbrooke smiled. ‘Those things happen in life.’
Guinevere tilted her head. ‘Have you ever heard before about this goblet?’
‘I don’t even know what goblet he means.’ Bolingbrooke waved a hand. ‘I’m sure he’s let himself be dragged into some wild goose chase again. But he’s an old friend and I can’t … Oh, Gregory, do come in.’
Guinevere swung round to the door where their guest was waiting on the threshold. He had taken off his coat and was now in his jacket with leather elbow patches, a pipe between his lips. He looked around. ‘Your library is almost bigger than mine.’
Bolingbrooke hitched a brow at Guinevere because of the ‘almost’ but said with a charming smile, ‘You have to tell us about all your travels. Where were you last? Corfu?’
‘Close, my friend. Another of the Ionian islands. Very friendly people and a lovely climate. You should travel more.’
‘And what did you find there?’ Oliver asked, carrying in the tea.
Wadencourt walked to the window and stared out.
‘Tea?’ Guinevere suggested quickly and began to pour for their guest.
‘No milk, no sugar,’ a voice beside her said and Max DeBurgh stood there, his hair swept back, a twinkle in his dark eyes. He was still carrying his camera. ‘If we find that goblet, I want you to play Lady Anne in the photo shoot I’m going to do. You’d be perfect for the part.’
Guinevere
