Free Strange Capers by Joan Smith

walked off to the left. “And this must have been a sort of sacristy. You can see that the walls formed a semicircle extending beyond the main body of the building. I wonder what it would cost to have it rebuilt.”
    “That would be a poor investment.”
    “What price do you put on history?” he asked.
    “I was thinking of the imminent sale. You wouldn’t get your money back, and, besides, there wouldn’t be time to do it.”
    Aiglon rubbed the back of his neck. I felt he was wavering in his notion of selling Thornbury. There was a section of wall that had completely blown away, and he let go my hand and walked out beyond the chapel, where he stood gazing back at it. There was a bemused air about him. I took a last look around the ruined sacristy. I noticed strange little indentations in the soft, grassy earth. Straight bars about two inches long and four inches apart. What could they be? They weren’t marks left by any animal or natural force. The marks were too regular, too sharp and clear. I walked forward and examined them. They seemed to go right under a small pile of rocks. I removed a few rocks and saw that the earth there had been recently disturbed.
    “Look at this, Aiglon!” I called, and he returned.
    “Someone’s been trespassing,” he commented idly. After all, there wasn’t much harm that could be done to a pile of rocks. “Probably poachers. I’ve seen quite a few rabbits around.”
    “But what could have made those marks?”
    “Possibly the butt of a rifle. I expect they hid their catch under the rocks when they heard someone coming. Are there any old books in the library with sketches of the chapel?” he asked.
    “Yes, a few. If you’re interested in such things, Aiglon, Rachel bought an old history of the area just the other day. She bought it for you, but it was moldy when she got it home, so she didn’t give it to you.” I was happy to encourage his interest in the place as it seemed to discourage him selling it. I knew Rachel would be delighted.
    “We should mark this day on the calendar. It will be the first time Rachel Savage has ever willingly given anybody anything!” he exclaimed.
    “Oh, she’s not that bad,” I lied.
    “If she’s been kind to you, then I forgive her all the rest. Come, let’s go for a drive. It’s such a beautiful day.”
    He took my hand again, and we left the chapel to stroll back through the overgrown path to Thornbury. His groom brought the yellow curricle around, and I was assisted up into it. It’s great height and precarious seating seemed less odd and dangerous on this second trip. It was an excellent vehicle for both speed and sightseeing. We drove southwest along the coast road past Folkestone and Hythe. I suggested that we stop at Saltwood Castle, but Aiglon was more eager to continue our drive. With the unappetizing marsh spreading out before us there wasn’t much to see, so we turned around and started home.
    The traffic was not heavy during the late afternoon, and Aiglon took it into his head that I should have a lesson in what he called “handling the ribbons,” which meant driving his team. The team darted along, paying no heed to my restraining orders, but at least they had the wits to remain on the ironed road, so I didn’t complain. I sat in silent anguish, frightened to death, while Aiglon merrily told me this was the very thing I needed, a new pastime to alternate with sitting on the pile of rocks and looking at the derelict garden. The excitement put some color into my cheeks, he said. It also blew my hair all over my face and left me breathless, but he was kind enough not to mention those details.
    We shot home at a reckless pace till we were just past Folkestone. That is where we met the tranter’s wagon, which was removing a house of furniture on a flatbed, drawn by four husky nags. They were an ill-natured team. I’m quite sure Aiglon’s grays could have gotten past them without incident if the leader—the tranter’s