And there, at long last, was the sapphire!
"Yes!" screamed Matthew. "Yes! YES!" His voice rang exultantly round the stone chamber.
Charles reached out his hand. "Let me see it."
He lifted it carefully from its container and held it up to the light. The gem was perfect. Even in this dim light its beautifully crafted facets both reflected and refracted the light in a way that was truly mesmerising. We’ve done it, he thought to himself. We’ve actually gone and done it! He heaved a sigh of relief and felt a rush of exhaustion suddenly descend upon him. There was nowhere to sit down, apart from either on the floor covered with stone dust, or on the edge of the alcove where the coffin had been. He opted for the latter.
Meanwhile, Matthew had reached into the black pouch again and this time pulled out a piece of folded paper. Written on Lord Alfred's personal stationery, bearing his coat of arms, and in the same cursive script which had provided them with that vital first clue several days ago, was a message:
"Congratulations, whoever you are. The fact that you are reading this message means that you have correctly solved the trail which I laid for you. Contact my lawyer, whose details are below, and all the necessary arrangements will be made. My final request is this: Please, please use the money wisely."
Still sitting down, Charles gave a small laugh. "Well, it seems that we need to go and make a certain phone call." He reached forward to shake Matthew's hand.
"Not quite yet," said Matthew.
Charles looked surprised. "Why ever not? We've found the sapphire and solved the mystery."
"We need to have a little chat first."
Charles felt a cold shiver go through him. There was a steely edge in Matthew's voice which he hadn't heard before. He tried to retain a measured tone and said, "What's on your mind, Matthew?"
Matthew spoke in a slightly higher pitch now, and his eyes were a little glazed. "I've got debts, Charles; big ones. And the fact is, as I'm sure you would agree, that I am the rightful heir to my father's estate. How about if we went, say 80–20?"
In the same calm voice, Charles replied, "Matthew, we made an agreement. I do hope you're not going to try and change its terms now."
"But it should all be mine, shouldn't it? I'm his son. His son! I could go to 75–25 but that's my final offer. I need the money, Charles."
"Your father's fortune is so vast that even receiving half of it will set you up for life. If we hadn't made our agreement there is every chance that I might've found the sapphire ahead of you and then you would've received nothing."
"Oh yes, you're right. Poor little Matthew could never achieve anything on his own. Poor little Matthew always had to have someone to hold his little hand. Poor little Matthew always had to go running to Daddy for help!"
"Matthew, let's go back to the house and talk about this over a drink. We could both do with it." His voice stayed calm but he could feel the drops of sweat as they ran down the inside of his shirt. Matthew, his eyes fixed on Charles, took a step towards him, menacingly.
"You just had to get involved, didn't you? Why couldn't you leave well alone? Then everything would've been ok." He moved closer and his voice rose to a scream, "I'm the heir to Heston Grange! Me!" and then, with both hands reaching out for Charles' throat he hissed through gritted teeth, "and me alone!"
"I'm not so sure that's correct."
Matthew whirled round in surprise. The voice came from one of the dark recesses of the crypt.
"But you were correct when you said that we need to have a little chat."
"Who are you?" screamed Matthew. "Show yourself!"
A figure moved forward out of the shadows and stood in a pool of the dim light.
"Oh, dear. Whatever am I supposed to do with you? You don't even recognise your own father?"
Standing before an astonished Matthew and Charles, in good health and very much alive, was Lord Alfred Willoughby.
Chapter 19
It was as though time stood still. Neither Charles nor Matthew could quite believe what they were seeing. Lord Alfred said nothing but eyed them both with a shrewd gaze. Eventually, it was Charles, still perched on the edge of the alcove, who recovered his speech first. He spoke in a gabble, barely coherent.
"Lord Alfred… but I was there… I saw you. You—"
"Died?"
"Well… yes."
"To borrow that delightful quotation, 'the reports of my death were greatly exaggerated.'"
"What about the Will?" asked Matthew, his voice barely above a whisper.
"The Will? Ah yes, my Will. Wrong question, my boy. That's the wrong question. I had hoped that you might be pleased to see me; that there might be some glimmer of happiness at my still being present in this world. You might have asked me whether I was in good health and whether there was anything I needed. At the very least, you might have asked how it came to be that I had somehow managed to die and yet still be alive today. Even if you had simply feigned some interest, as a matter of common courtesy, at least that would have been something. But, no. Following my remarkable resurrection, what are your first words? ‘What about the Will’." He sighed deeply. It was a sad, depressed sigh.
Charles found his voice again. "But how did you- … why did you- … you faked your own death?"
Lord Alfred smiled. "It was rather convincing, wasn't it? I must confess, though, by the day of your arrival I had practised it many times. I wanted to make sure I got it just right." He took a deep breath and then continued. "But I suppose I do owe you some sort of explanation. You’re looking awkward, Matthew. Why don't you sit down?" he indicated the ledge where Charles was already seated.
"No thanks, I'll stand."
"As you wish." He thrust his hands into the deep pockets of his corduroy jacket and began to speak again, looking rather like a university lecturer, pacing slowly back and forth, moving in and out of the pools of dim light on the floor of the crypt as he did so.
"I am an old man. I may be a reasonably healthy old man, but I cannot escape the fact that I am still old. Having been blessed with the gift for making money, if indeed it has been a blessing rather than a curse, the final significant financial decision I needed to make was concerning the settling of my estate after my departure." He stopped his walking and focused his gaze on Matthew before continuing, "You don't need me to remind you that I had some concerns regarding this matter. Eventually, rather than simply give away a free handout, I hit upon the idea of turning it into a kind of challenge." He glanced again at Matthew, who was staring at the floor. "I was hoping against hope that the value of hard work and applying yourself to a task would somehow be realised. Was I really asking too much?"
He paused, and the distant sound of the sea echoed plaintively around the crypt.
"As you can imagine, it took quite some time to set up this little scheme of mine. I spent a long while searching through my poetry collection before I was able to find the perfect piece for use with this task. Once I discovered 'The Grave of Shelley' I was delighted. It was truly extraordinary how closely the lines of this poem matched the already existing features of the house and cemetery. The only ones I had to fabricate were the addition of the poppies in the panelling outside Meg's room, and the owl at the top of the steps leading down here; and I engaged a couple of local craftsmen some time ago to create them. But, as for the pyramid-shaped room under the eaves, the model sphinx and so on, it all fitted perfectly. The very finest author could not have scripted it better! Now, as you will have reasoned, I made both pieces of film several days before my — ahem — performance. Having thus ensured that all the relevant clues were correctly positioned along the way, I realised that once the wheels were set in motion I would need an 'inside man', an assistant who could help things along when required, as well as keeping me informed of any developments."