The Lost Gardens(85)

Jamie tugged Roger’s sleeve. ‘We have to go, quickly,’ she said.

‘All right. Anyway, it was bloody dark looking down those steps, so I went and borrowed this flashlight from China. If it hadn’t been for the tool bag sitting in the middle of the room, I might have missed the trapdoor altogether. One hardly expects to find a Bosch drill in the middle of a subterranean medieval chamber. If it weren’t for that—’

‘Look,’ said Jamie, ‘we don’t have time to stand around and chat about it. Fox could come back any minute—he’s got a gun—and then there’ll be three of us down there,’ she said, nodding at the trapdoor hole.

‘Fox?’ Roger asked.

‘Never mind, we’ll tell you later,’ Jamie replied, testily.

‘We’d better not leave that trunk,’ said Kingston, putting on his coat, making sure the canvases were flat in the poacher’s pocket. ‘Give me a hand with it, will you, Roger?’

Kingston went back down into the room and dragged the small trunk across the floor to the foot of the ladder. What was inside, he wondered? What could possibly be so important to Ryder? With a grunt he hoisted it up on to his shoulder and started up the ladder. At the top Roger gripped the handle and the two of them manoeuvred the trunk over the trapdoor ledge and on to the floor.

With Kingston and Ferguson carrying the trunk between them and Jamie a few paces ahead holding the lamp and carrying the tool bag, they started back to the chapel.

Nothing was said as they hurried along the corridors, Jamie looking over her shoulder now and then, careful not to get too far ahead.

Kingston’s mind was on the trunk. What on earth could it contain? More paintings, possibly, but from the painstaking manner in which the other three had been sealed and crated, it seemed unlikely. Whatever it was must be valuable. He started to imagine possibilities when he realized that Roger had suddenly stopped. So had Jamie. She was standing motionless a dozen paces ahead of them one hand held up, palm facing them. She looked over her shoulder. ‘Someone’s coming,’ she whispered, just loudly enough for them to hear. ‘It has to be Fox.’

Now they could all hear the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.

‘Come back, Jamie—here,’ Kingston whispered. ‘There’s a room just behind us on the right.’

The three retraced their steps and stumbled into the empty room.

‘Quick, put the lamp out,’ Kingston said in a stage whisper.

The three stood like statues in the pitch-black stillness behind the half-open door, the trunk beside them. The footsteps, part running, were now very close. In seconds, a faint glimmer of bouncing light illuminated the rectangular gap of the door. It grew brighter to where they could read each other’s expressions, all tense, fearful. Rooted to the spot, they heard the footsteps pass and the glow from Fox’s flashlight gradually diminished.

‘Let’s get out of here fast,’said Kingston, gripping one of the trunk handles. ‘It’s only a matter of minutes before he discovers we’ve gone and comes charging back.’

Jamie bent down to pick up the lamp.

‘Forget it, Jamie. Just use your flashlight.’

They darted from the room half running, half stumbling and made their way along the last stretch of corridor. Up ahead, at last, they could see daylight coming through the trapezium-shaped opening of the pew.

Jamie was first to the top of the steps. She shone the flashlight down so that Kingston and Roger could have as much light as possible as they heaved the trunk up. Roger helped lift the trunk up on to Kingston’s shoulder where Kingston steadied and adjusted it for a second, then started up the narrow steps. On the fifth step he faltered. The trunk was slipping off his shoulder. He leaned forward trying to correct it but knew he could not prevent it from falling. ‘Quick, grab the trunk, Roger,’he said. ‘I’m going to drop it.’

As the trunk slid unchecked off his arched back, Kingston turned to see Roger caught off balance on the step immediately behind him, grappling with it. For a brief moment he had a grasp of the trunk but couldn’t hold on, more because of its bulk than its weight. Falling backwards, he let go of the trunk, pushing it away from him, and fell hard on the stone floor. Kingston cringed as the trunk crashed down inches from Roger’s head and did a cartwheel before coming to rest, upright and undamaged.

Kingston rushed to his side, Jamie right behind.

‘Are you okay?’ Kingston asked, kneeling by Roger’s side.

Roger had slowly raised himself and was half sitting supported by an outstretched arm with one leg tucked awkwardly under the other. For a horrible moment Kingston thought his leg might be broken.