Tarver's Treasure Read online

  After that it was into the vestry to sign their names, with Bethany giggling as she lifted the quill to sign Bethany Maria Tarver for the first time in her life. When she gently blew the words dry, she looked over to her husband.

  The parson smiled and winked. ‘I knew you before you were born, Bethany, and I baptised you in exactly the same spot as you were wed, and the same place I hope to baptise your own children.’

  Bethany opened her mouth, looked away and said nothing. Jack felt the colour rise to his face. He had not thought of children, although that was the natural consequence of marriage. For a second, he imagined having a son to teach engineering, or a smaller version of Bethany to dote over, and he knew he was smiling. But the parson was still talking.

  ‘Now you are embarking on the most exciting journey in your life, Mrs Tarver: marriage to a man of your own choosing.’

  Jack found himself grinning to Bethany like a schoolboy, and she was smiling back as if she had never been nervous in her life. He was still unsure what to say, but then they were ushered back down the aisle between people who were all beaming good humour. The flowers were scented underfoot and the light filtered beautifully through the eighteenth-century stained-glass windows to light the floral halo around Bethany’s head. Jack wanted to keep this moment, to bottle it so he could take it out and uncork it in the bad times that surely lay ahead, for all pleasure must be paid for. And then they stepped through the arched entrance and into the world outside.

  A thousand years before, some far-sighted Saxon builder had created the church of Merrington-on-Wye St Paul’s. He had utilised an even more ancient Celtic religious site, of a mound with a small pond at the top, and in time a village had gathered close. Now Jack stood just outwith the doorway, looking down on the clustered houses and the gentle countryside stretching away in a profusion of fields and orchards to the rippling smoothness of the Wye. Beyond the river was Wales, with the rising mountains a blue smear in the distance.

  ‘This is one of my favourite views,’ whispered Bethany, slipping a hand beneath his arm and pressing closer, as if she had been his wife for years rather than just a few moments. ‘Stop for a minute, Jack. I want to remember this moment.’

  Jack looked at her, wondering if she had somehow read his thoughts.

  The congregation was filing out behind them, some throwing handfuls of rice, others flower petals, but there was no mistaking the genuine friendship. Bethany was a Merrington-on-Wye girl through and through, and many of these people had known her since she was born, and her mother and grandmother beyond that. Generations of her ancestors had attended this church and now lay peacefully in the congested graveyard around the base of the mound, their names inscribed on weathered headstones. Jack sighed, wondering anew about his own ancestors: who had they been and where did they lie buried? He could trace back his own name, and knew of his parents, but he did not know from where they had originated.

  What have you married, Bethany Gethin? What am I?

  ‘Go on, Bethany!’ The bright words shook Jack from his introspection. This was his wedding day, for goodness sake, and he should be thinking about the future. It was not hard to smile when he glanced at Bethany, standing proud and happy at his side: the sight of her chased his fit of the blue devils away and, leaning closer, he kissed her once more.

  ‘Good luck to you, Beth my girl!’ Betsy lingered, resting her chin on Bethany’s shoulder. ‘I do so love weddings, Beth. They always provide an exquisite display of men in tight breeches!’ Her voice was meant to be a whisper but carried across the churchyard.

  ‘You are a naughty woman, Betsy Gethin!’

  ‘And don’t tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing, Bethany Tarver. Or something very similar!’ Betsy’s chuckle was deep and throaty and always good-humoured.

  Robert was next to leave, shaking Jack’s hand and stealing a kiss from Bethany. ‘Go on, Beth! We want plenty bouncing babies to play cricket on the common!’

  Bethany coloured at that, and turned round to retaliate, but Jack stopped her with a kiss of his own, much to the approval of the watching villagers.

  Somebody began to clap, slowly and carefully. An elderly woman joined in, and then another, until the sound echoed around the churchyard. Jack grinned at the crowd, and Bethany clung onto his arm and laughed with the sheer joy of life.

  Blackbirds were competing with skylarks in the clear arc of morning, and the air was fragrant with flowers and alive with forthcoming spring. Jack thought that this surely was perfection: to be with the girl, woman, he loved in the place he thought of as home and with friends crowding around them wishing them well.

  He was no longer alone; Jack realised that he would never be alone again. He was part of a pair, half of a whole. The thought was so strange that he pulled Bethany closer and kissed her unashamedly, nearly passionately, to the delight of the spectators and the scandalised squeals of his new wife.

  ‘Jack! No!’

  ‘Go on, Jacko! Kiss the Proud Gal of Merrington-on-Wye!’ Robert bellowed, giving his approval. He then slapped Jack between the shoulders with hands as large and hard as an anvil.

  Jack had a lot of time for big Robert; they tasted the product of Robert’s cider orchard together and shared an interest in practical engineering, although Bethany had not been slow to voice her disapproval of their occasional late nights in the Seven Whistlers.

  Bethany pulled free, slightly breathless, as she wiped a hand across her lips. ‘Leave some for later, Jack. You’ve got me forever, you know. I’m not going anywhere!’ Her eyes narrowed, laughing at him.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Mr Gethin touched Jack on the shoulder. ‘Your carriage awaits.’

  There was really no need for a carriage to drive the short distance to the Seven Whistlers, but Mr Gethin had insisted that his daughter should travel in style on her wedding day and now a post-chaise stood at the gates of the churchyard. The driver tipped his tall hat in acknowledgement and jumped down, bowing as he opened the carriage door.

  ‘Madam, Sir,’ he announced, bowing again. ‘Congratulations on your wedding, and I wish you all the happiness possible.’ He was a short man, with a badly broken nose, but he seemed pleasant enough and Bethany favoured him with one of her friendliest smiles.

  The inside of the coach had been especially cleaned for the occasion, with fresh straw on the floor and a laundered cover on the carriage cushion. Bethany plumped herself down, patted the seat so that Jack could join her and immediately moved to the window so she could peer outside at the waving spectators.

  ‘Is it not exceedingly delightful that all these people should be wishing us good fortune?’

  ‘It is,’ Jack agreed, and for some reason he added, ‘And us without a farthing to bless ourselves with.’

  ‘No!’ Bethany put forward her gloved hand, palm towards him. ‘I am fully aware of our perilous financial situation, Jack, as you are fully aware that I will make a very poor wife … no!’ She pressed a finger against his lips, stopping his attempt to disagree. ‘No, we both know that I will never be a conventional wife, Jack, and it is foolish to try to say otherwise.’ Lowering her hand, she smiled. ‘Let’s not quarrel on our wedding day, Jack. I have no doubt that we will have many opportunities later. Can you believe that we are man and wife?’

  Jack looked at her. He had known her since he was a schoolboy and she had haunted his thoughts and his life ever since. ‘I believe that we have always been married, Bethany Maria,’ he told her seriously. ‘But it has not been legitimate until today.’

  ‘Oh, you are a card, Jack,’ she replied light-heartedly. Sitting back in the seat, she surveyed him. ‘I am never quite sure what to make of you. You’re so solemn and so deep, yet sometimes you can say … I think that’s the nicest thing, the most romantic thing that anybody has ever said.’

  The sudden desire to kiss her was overpowering and Jack eased forward, pulling her to him so intensely that he did not notice the coach lurch to a stop and the driver open
ing the door, so a score of people crowded around the Seven Whistlers witnessed their embrace.

  ‘Time enough for that later, young fellow!’

  The laughter was supportive, as friendly hands helped them out. Mr Gethin was waiting for them, his face beaming and his hands white-knuckled as he gripped the long cane he carried.

  The Seven Whistlers was the only inn in Merrington-on-Wye, and the innkeeper looked anxious as he bowed them in. Curtseying in reply, Bethany scrutinised the coffee-room, as if she expected some flaw in the arrangements that she had spent so much time making, but everything seemed to meet her exacting standards.

  ‘It’ll do,’ she said, and the innkeeper gave a relieved smile, for he had experienced Bethany’s perfectionism over the past few weeks.

  The wedding breakfast was spread over two tables, with chicken and ham and beef and freshly baked bread all a testament to the prosperity of Britain and the continuing success of the Royal Navy in keeping alive the trade networks. Even as Tarver made that connection, a representative of the navy waddled towards them.

  More corpulent than athletic, Admiral Blacklock had a tumbler of French brandy in one hand and what appeared to be half a chicken in the other. ‘Ah, Mr Engineer Tarver! And Bethany, my favourite new-wed woman!’ The he bowed as low as his shape allowed: ‘I do beg pardon – Mrs Tarver now.’

  ‘I am gratified that you favoured us with your presence, Admiral.’ Bethany’s curtsey combined politeness with friendship.

  ‘You will be more gratified in a minute or two, my dear,’ replied Admiral Blacklock, waving the piece of chicken as if it were a cutlass, ‘when you hear what I have to say.’

  ‘Indeed, sir?’ Jack tried to look interested, but although he liked Admiral Blacklock he could not think how his nautical anecdotes could improve his wedding day.

  ‘I presume that you two have a honeymoon planned?’ Admiral Blacklock raised a knowing eyebrow. ‘You youngsters nowadays seem to think that these things are necessary. Why, I got married between tides and was off to the West Indies for eighteen months immediately afterward, and did not even consummate my marriage until…’

  Bethany interrupted tactfully: ‘We did hope for a few days in Bath, sir, but unfortunately…’

  ‘Unfortunately your finances do not permit,’ Admiral Blacklock interrupted in turn.

  ‘Indeed, sir, that is the case exactly,’ Jack agreed.

  ‘Quite so. Then the prospect of a pleasant cruise to a delightful island would certainly please you both?’

  ‘A cruise?’ Bethany glanced towards Jack. ‘I am not sure that I understand, Admiral.’

  ‘I mean just what I say, Mrs Tarver. I can offer you and your husband a comfortable voyage in a well-found ship.’ He bit on his chicken and continued to speak. ‘What do you say to that as a wedding gift, eh?’

  ‘It is very generous of you to offer so advantageous a proposal, sir,’ Jack agreed, ‘but to where, and to what purpose? Pray do not think me ungrateful, but I do not believe we have time for such an adventure. I must find a commission to support us both.’

  ‘And the mill, and father,’ Bethany added. ‘We cannot leave him.’

  ‘Father can look after himself and the mill quite well, thank you kindly,’ Harry Gethin interrupted. Spurning the wine for which he had paid, he stood with a battered pewter tankard of honest Hereford cider. ‘You go and enjoy yourselves.’ He took a noisy swallow, looking from the Admiral to Jack and back again. ‘But I would wager that there is more involved, Admiral?’

  When Admiral Blacklock smiled, folds of fat nearly concealed his eyes, but there was no hiding the good humour. ‘Indeed, Mr Gethin. I am offering six months’ work for Mr Tarver in a congenial environment, with excellent remuneration. Might you be interested, Mr Tarver?’

  ‘And Mrs Tarver?’ suggested Bethany, lifting her chin. ‘Does this employment mean that I am to be taken by ship to some foreign port and there parted from my husband of …’ – she checked the silver watch that hung from Jack’s waistcoat pocket – ‘precisely fifty-seven minutes?’

  ‘Bethany … Mrs Tarver,’ Admiral Blacklock shook his head solemnly, ‘I would not dare do such a thing.’

  Bethany accepted the words as if it was her due. She looked at Jack, who nodded. ‘So where might we be going, Admiral?’

  Admiral Blacklock tasted his brandy, smacked his lips and sighed, obviously enjoying himself immensely. ‘Malta,’ he said, softly. ‘You are going to Malta, and Mr Tarver is going to build a road.’

  ‘Malta?’ Bethany looked stunned. ‘I’d never dreamed that I could travel so far. But why build a road in Malta? Did we not eject the French from there just before the late peace? And is it not true that the French desired us to leave the island?’

  ‘So many questions, Bethany … Mrs Tarver.’ The Admiral beamed at her as he would to a favoured niece. ‘Mr Tarver and I will discuss the details later, but he has been pressing both the Admiralty and Horse Guards for a commission for some time now. This is all that is on offer at present, since you did not land the commission for the Romney Marsh Canal.’

  Jack grunted. He had expected to find engineering work on the military canal but things had not worked out. ‘Aye, I hear they have paper soldiers patrolling there now. That will frighten Boney.’

  ‘I believe they do have some type of make-believe soldier along the canal, Mr Tarver, but thanks to Nelson, God rest him, there is now less need to frighten Boney.’ Making another ponderous bow, the Admiral took a step backwards. ‘I will be in touch, Mr Tarver, but for now, pray enjoy your wedding day.’ His wink lacked even pretence at subtlety. ‘And your wedding night.’

  As he was about to reply, Jack noticed that suddenly Harry Gethin’s face looked concerned, so he merely nodded, saying, ‘Thank you, sir.’ He was unsure quite what to think. He had spent the last few weeks agonising about being a married man without employment, and now Admiral Blacklock had given him a solution that included a host of new problems. He knew virtually nothing about road building, but what was the alternative?

  ‘Malta?’ questioned Harry Gethin. ‘Wherever is that?’

  ‘In the central Mediterranean,’ Bethany said, providing the information. ‘Boney took it from the Knights of St John and we took it from Boney.’ She glanced at Jack, as if she were asking his permission before she spoke, then strengthened her voice. ‘I believe that the Maltese people asked us to stay, but the old owners, the Knights, are trying to get it back. Altogether it is a most confusing situation.’

  ‘Good God!’ Gethin swallowed a great draught of cider. ‘And how do you feel about working away out there, Jack?’ He paused for a significant moment. ‘And taking my daughter away from me?’

  ‘Jack will be working, Father. He will be supporting me, as is his duty as my husband.’ Bethany emphasised the last word. ‘Jack – my husband – is going to build a road and get well paid for it. You heard the Admiral.’ She looked around at the assembled guests and the waiting food. ‘But this is my wedding day, Father, so can we forget everything else just now?’

  Harry Gethin nodded. ‘You are quite right, of course.’ Accepting a glass of port from Jessica, who had evidently sampled a few sips, he lifted it high and raised his voice. ‘A toast! Will everybody please ensure that their glasses are charged?’

  There were a few moments of confusion, as people scrambled for a full glass, some emptying their drink first and eagerly refilling. Harry Gethin waited until everybody had taken their allotted place along the long table, then announced, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you all to stand and join me on this most joyous occasion.’

  There was a great scraping of chair legs and rustling of cloth as the guests obediently stood. Some raised their glasses and a few even attempted to look suitably solemn.

  ‘Has everybody got a full glass?’

  There was a chorus of mumbles and nods, but Bethany shook her head. ‘Not quite everyone, Father. Jessica has not.’ As the company watched, not all with approval, Bethany
filled a glass with small beer and handed it to her youngest sister, Jessica, who coloured with embarrassment at thus being singled out for attention. ‘There. I know you are still young, Jessica, but I will have you as part of these celebrations.’

  ‘Now, let us continue.’ Mr Gethin glanced at his daughter and smiled. ‘I have waited some years for this wedding, but not so long as Jack has. I refused him permission the first time, but he persevered until he had succeeded in his chosen occupation as an engineer and now he has won the hand of my daughter.’ He paused for a significant moment. ‘I only hope he knows what he has let himself in for.’

  There was a rumble of laughter from most of the married men present and amused or disapproving mumbles from the wives. Bethany threw her father a glance that promised dire retribution on a future occasion.

  ‘So … I’d like you all to raise your glasses now. May the happy couple never know sorrow. May they always enjoy health and employment and prosperity. May they find strength and comfort in each other’s company and, in time, have a whole host of bouncing babies to add to their joy.’

  ‘Father!’ Bethany threw her father a scandalised look, which raised a laugh from every married woman present.

  ‘And more importantly’ – at this stage Mr Gethin paused significantly – ‘may their love and trust only strengthen with the passage of years.’ He waited until the expected murmur died down before raising his voice further. ‘The health of the happy couple!’

  ‘The happy couple!’ everybody echoed.

  ‘May they be the happiest couple ever!’ Jessica added.

  There were a few moments’ silence, then Bethany tapped Jack’s shoulder. ‘You have to reply,’ she whispered urgently.