Then, one day, this island lass found a treasure map hidden away in her grandfather’s house, which had once been the home of a pirate king. “Could it be?” said she. “The long-lost treasure of Mucknell the Menace?” Knowing not whether she should dare to hope, she remembered her dearest friend from her year at school—sweet Emily, whose father was of great renown. “A trustee is he,” thought Beth to herself, “of the greatest museum in all the land. If it be true, he will know, and if false, he shall advise.”
And so off she sent her map to grand old London Town, where the earl of renown declared, “By Jove! Follow this map, dear girl, and it’ll lead you to the pirate’s hoard! And anything you find, you may send my way. For I have a friend who will pay you well.”
Visions of Seasons swimming in her head, fair Beth set out to unlock the secrets of the map. But wanting to keep her family from thinking her foolish, she convinced her brother, Good Vicar Oliver, to let her spend the summer on the next island over, so in secrecy she might search.
Little did she know that this friend of the earl was none other than the Nefarious Marquess of SheriDoom. And when he heard that pirate treasure could be found in the isles, he sent his henchman with vile intent. Lorne was the henchman’s name, and black was his soul.
Now, Beth had spent her whole life long learning every secret of her island home. Quickly she gathered every clue to be found, which lit a fuse of envy in evil Lorne. “I must,” said he, “find the secrets too.” And so he hired an innocent lad to aid him.
But when the lad realized how dark was Lorne’s heart, he cried, “Nay!” and tried to break free, receiving as a reward a hero’s death at the hand of a villain true.
She pulled her pencil from the page, squeezing her eyes shut. Poor Johnnie. He’d deserved so much more than what he’d gotten. He’d deserved a future, a wife, a brood of children to run over the islands just as he had once done. Not a blow to the head in Piper’s Hole and a mother who would mourn him the rest of her days.
Beth sniffed and opened her eyes again, staring at the page. It was rubbish. She’d never let another soul look at it.
But she had to get it down. Tell Johnnie’s tale, and her own stupid part in it. Sucking in a breath, she bent over the page again.
Devastated by the downfall of her young friend, fair Beth knew what to do when a threat landed on her own rented doorstep: “Tread with care, O Lady Fair, or yours will be the next to pay.”
Frightened for the good vicar her brother and their aging grandmother, Beth made the only decision she could. To her sloop she flew, with supplies to see her through, and off to another isle she sailed. Using the secrets she’d learned of her home, she hid her boat and herself during every day, and by night she sailed and searched.
But what Beth couldn’t know was that her cousin came home while she was away, bringing with her another lady called—
No, the rhythm of that was all wrong. Beth gnawed on her lip and crossed out the last line.
But while Beth hid away, home came her cousin, alarmed at the cessation of letters. And in her care was another lady so fair, also called Elizabeth, it seemed. Into Beth’s rented cottage the two soon settled . . . and into Beth’s sad troubles they stumbled. For the wicked son of the earl mistook one for the other when he came to check on her finds. “The treasure,” he demanded of this second Elizabeth, “or soon you will pay. For SheriDoom demands his prize.”
So, the unwitting Elizabeth stepped into Beth’s shoes . . . and into good Oliver’s heart. While they strove to solve the mystery, they soon fell in love, bringing hope from the ashes of tragedy.
But their cousin was struck, and their grandfather too, and their grandmother dear fell ill in shock. So, home Beth flew to those she loved best, only to discover that even that refuge had been compromised.
For the Nefarious SheriDoom had descended upon the isles. He had stolen fair Beth’s most prized possession already and now threatened to steal any treasure she found. For no amount of pirate gold could satiate his greed, and no price was too steep for his seeking.
Together, the friends soon followed the map to a castle of crumbling stone. Down they dug, in search of the silver that the earl of renown said they’d find. And there, in a crate of splintering wood, branded with the crest of the pirate king, did it lie. Silver—not nuggets nor bars nor doubloons, but fashioned as knives, forks, and spoons. With “Elizabeth” etched into every piece—the gift, one time, for a queen.
But the wicked earl’s son and the vile henchman Lorne had put their evil heads together by now. They captured Beth’s cousin, along with her beau, and soon came for Beth as well. But it was Elizabeth they found and mistook her again and swept her away to a cave. Only by the grace of the good God above, and the foresight of Beth’s valiant grand-dame, were this lady fair and the good vicar able to triumph over the vicious Lorne.
In shackles that fellow was soon marched away—but the tale was far from complete. For the wicked son of the earl got away, and SheriDoom hunkered to wait. “We’ll find the rest,” he threatened and boomed, “and then to my coffers it goes.”
Fair Beth swore it wouldn’t but swore it in silence. For she knew that wisdom said, “Wait.” There was clearly more treasure waiting to be found, treasure that would bring the hunters to her door. And only one way to fend them all off: she must be the first to discover it.
Motion caught her eye, and she looked up, watching the two five-man gigs race by on their outbound leg of the race. She watched them until they were out of sight and then looked back to her paper. And heaved a sigh. Ridiculous, of course. She’d known it would be. Everything she tried to write down was.
She folded the papers and shoved them back into Treasure Island, then flipped through the familiar typed pages, to the last note she’d scrawled in the margin before she’d accidentally dropped the tome in her harried flight from St. Mary’s Island nearly two months ago.
Thieves will end up with empty pockets.
She’d scratched the words onto the page in a rage, which had boiled down to a low fury while she was hunkering out of sight on Samson for six weeks, trying to find the long-lost pirate treasure without putting Ollie or Mamm-wynn at risk. Living on her wits, her fishing skills, and the store of necessities she’d taken with her to the abandoned cottages. That fury had flared up again, though, when she came back to Tresco a week ago.
When she saw, in her own house, the man behind the thievery. Guest of her brother. Unapologetic and arrogant and obstinately refusing to see reason when she told him point-blank that the trinket box the Scofields had sold to him had not been theirs to sell. And she had not given them permission. It was stolen goods, nothing more. But the irritating man wouldn’t listen.
“Well now. This is quite a vista, isn’t it? I daresay I wouldn’t grow tired of that view. Or, well . . . I suppose I might. Any view can grow old after time enough. Don’t you think?”
Her shoulders went tight as springs at the very voice she least wanted to hear, but she didn’t give Lord Arrogance Personified Sheridan the pleasure of seeing her reaction. Nor did she dignify his observation with a reply.
Even if it was the very thing she’d thought herself countless times.
She loved the islands. They’d always been home. But they weren’t all. There was so much more world out there, just begging to be seen. Explored. Discovered.