Page 23 of The Scottish Island Inn

‘What is it?’

‘Open it.’ He watched her with a glint of excitement in his eyes.

There was a burnished bronze lock on the outside, but it wasn’t locked. Inside, the box was lined with burgundy satin.

Sorrel glanced at what was inside, and looked up at Tam in surprise. ‘Is this…?’

‘That’s what I thought. You can’t quite believe what you’re seeing. But I think it’s real.’

‘Oh my… wow.’

Carefully, Sorrel reached into the box. Inside was an ornamental dagger.

She held it up in the light, awed at the discovery.

It was heavy. Longer than she would have expected, with a shiny silver blade and ornate Celtic knotwork running along the blade and covering the pommel. The hilt was shaped like a cross, set with a large, square emerald on each arm, another in the centre, and one at the end. The pommel – Sorrel somehow knew that the pommel was the knob at the end of the hilt – was designed in the shape of a crown and studded with diamonds. ‘I think it’s the dagger that Emma Gordon was supposed to have stolen.’ Tam observed. ‘I think the stones in the hilt are real emeralds.’

‘My goodness. It must be so valuable.’ Sorrel said, awed.

‘You’re not wrong there. The jewels alone would be worth maybe hundreds of thousands. They’re massive, and old.’ Tam reached over and traced the line of the dagger in her hands gently with his forefinger. ‘This is Balhennie property. Lost for all these years. What are you going to do with it?’ he asked.

‘I guess we should give it to Uncle James; he keeps all the kind of stuff from the Balhennie history. We can hardly mount it on the wall in the caravan.’ She had used a sarcastic tone, and she felt bad for it as soon as she saw Tam’s face.

‘No, obviously. I meant, you could sell it. I’m sure your dad would appreciate being able to finish paying for the repairs. Pay you back, too,’ Tam suggested.

‘I’m sure you’re right, but he can’t just sell it without asking Uncle James; that would be weird. It belongs at the castle.’

‘Well, I had to give it to you, so, there you go.’ He shrugged. ‘A bit of the Balhennie history, maybe. I mean, if it’s the same dagger as Emma Gordon was supposed to have stolen, what’s it doing here?’

‘No idea. Where did the builders find it?’

‘Hidden up in the fireplace. It’s been wedged up there on a little shelf inside the chimney for all this time – what? A hundred and fifty years?’ He gestured to the wide inglenook fireplace at the centre of the Inn’s kitchen. When they were children, Sorrel and her sisters played in the recess, but Catriona yelled at them if she found out; it hadn’t been a working fireplace for some years, but there was a wood burner in the centre, and if it was on, it got hot to the touch.

‘Something like that.’ Sorrel nodded. ‘That’s amazing. So, if Emma Gordon stole it, she hid it here. Why?’

‘I don’t know. It may not have been her. There’s a letter in that box too. I didn’t want to open it without you.’ Tam handed over an envelope, foxed with age. He kept another piece of paper that had been folded over.

‘A letter?’ She opened the envelope. ‘Hm. It sounds like a love letter,’ she said, scanning it and then reading it aloud.

My dearest Matthew,

By the time you read this, I will be gone. The ship sails from Southampton for the New World in three days, and I plan to be on it.

If you want the future that we dreamed of together, meet me there. I will wait on the dock for you until it’s time to depart.

Two hearts that know each other shall never be parted, my dear Matthew. Whatever happens to me, and whatever happens to you – and whatever you hear about me – know that I truly loved you. What was between us was real.

Your,

Emma xxx

‘Emma Gordon?’ Tam took the letter from her and looked at it.

‘Maybe. It’s a coincidence if it’s not.’ Sorrel raised an eyebrow. ‘What does yours say?’

‘This one’s not a love letter. It’s a court summons. Look…’ Tam showed it to her. At the top of the paper was an embossed, official-looking royal crest, with the title SUMMONS in an elaborate copperplate script.

The form was mostly filled out in flowing handwriting.