that’s it. We’ve already checked all the books.”
Mrs. Mahoney looked puzzled. “Well I never” she said. “Sometimes I think my memory is completely gone. But no one has ever asked me before and I don’t know why I never thought of it. The books are still in the chests. They’ve never been taken out and put back into our collection.” She shook her head and blinked a few times. “I just don’t know why I never remembered them.”
Dad’s voice was filled with excitement. “Where are the chests stored Mrs. Mahoney? Do you know if they’re still around?”
“Of course they’re still around Mr. O’Leary. They’re stored in the annex. I saw them this last November when Barney and Amos came to take away the trestles for the Xmas fete. I always meant to get to them but one thing and another and after a while it didn’t seem to matter. I had completely forgotten about them.”
“Where’s the annex?” I asked. “Is it in Truro?”
“Well no young man, it’s not in Truro. It’s right here, outside the door, at the back of the library.” Mrs. Mahoney smiled and raised one eyebrow. “Why I even have a key.”
George let out a whoop of delight, and there was a ‘shush’ from Marlene in ‘Cornish Cooking’. I felt like whooping as well. Max and Charlie gave each other ‘high fives’. Mrs. Mahoney held up her hand, rolling one finger in the air. Then she pointed to her desk. “Let’s get the key.”
Mrs. Mahoney fossicked in her desk for ages till she found the key. It was pushed right to the back of the bottom drawer, under papers and lollie wrappers. “I do like the toffees you know.” When she pulled the key out we saw that it was attached to a polished lump of dark grey rock as large as a cricket ball. The key was about six inches long and made of iron, and it was obviously old. The bow, the bit you hold on to when you’re turning the key, was oval shaped, and at least two inches long. It had a small curl of iron at the back, like a tiny leaf. The shaft of the key had several collars, raised pieces that ran around the circumference of the shaft. One collar was much larger than the others so I guessed this must be the one that locked the key into place when it was inserted in the lock. And the blade of the key, the piepartce that actually opens the lock, was nearly the size of a box of matches, with small oblongs cut out of each side and into the bottom. It really was a huge key. It was big enough to use as a mallet.
Behind Mrs. Mahoney’s desk a door opened into a small room with a sofa and a tiny kitchen. In one corner there was a sink and a microwave. At the back of the room there was another door. Mrs. Mahoney marched over and opened the door to a short set of stone steps. Mrs. Mahoney led us down the steps and along a cobbled path that ran beside the building. “I can’t believe that I forgot about the branches. Deary me. And for so long.” She looked at Dad. “But then, Mr. O’Leary, you’re the only ones who have ever asked.”
The annex was attached to the rear of the library, almost as if it was an afterthought. Like the library it was built of bricks, except that, unlike the library, the annex bricks had been painted rather than rendered. The paint was dark grey in colour, almost dark blue, and thick as if a lot of coats had been added. The cobbled path led along the side of the annex and turned left at the end, where there was a small yard with stone walls and some dead plants. The door to the annex was situated in the middle of its rear wall. The door was painted a dark grey, similar to the bricks, but the paint job appeared to be much more recent. A dull brass handle was fitted to the right hand side of the door at waist height. There was a large keyhole immediately below the handle. Mrs. Mahoney inserted the huge key and turned it. The door opened with a scraping sound. She stepped back and handed the key to Dad. “Now I’ll leave you to it. The chests are against the side wall, behind the trestles. I’ll go and see to Marlene and then I’ll be closing up, but I’ll be here until five so you have plenty of time. Just be sure to keep everything tidy, Lock up when you’re finished, and I’ll need the key. And please take care if you’re moving the trestles. We’ll be needing those again come December.”
After Mrs. Mahoney went back to ‘see to Marlene’ we all piled into the annex. The annex had no windows and it took a minute to find the light switch, which was mounted behind the door. “Now that’s logical” said Dad in one of his sarcastic tones. The switch was a round wooden fixture, about the size of a saucer, with a brass toggle switch in the middle with a knob on top. A tube of metal pipe ran up the wall away from the switch until it disappeared into the brickwork about ten feet up, no doubt connected to the library mains. There was no ceiling, only a series of exposed beams and metal braces. At least these were all painted white, though from the dust and cobwebs it had been a long time. A single light socket was fitted to the wall close by the spot where the pipe exited. It all looked pretty old, but funnily enough the light globe was a recent addition, a low energy globes so impossibly bright that it was almost blinding. It lit the annex completely.
There wasn’t much to the annex. The walls were brick, painted an ugly yellow that flowed over the bricks like treacle. The floor was bare cement so I guessed that was also a more recent addition. To our left there was a rack of adjustable steel shelves with paint cans, brushes, bundles of canvass and some rolls of wire. The far wall held a stack of three desks and six or seven chairs, all stacked tightly against the wall. To our right there were two stacks of trestle tables with folding legs. Each stack had at least six tables. Behind the tables we could see the top of a large wooden box. We had the trestles moved and restacked near the shelves in ten minutes.
There were seven chests, each one about three feet long, and two feet high and two feet deep. There were four chests in one stack and three chests in the other. Each chest was made of timber with a lid about six inches deep. Wide metal handles were attached to the ends of each chest, just below the lid. Two bands of green metal were wrapped around each chest. Each band ended in a latch on the front of the chest. A quick check showed that all the latches were closed, but none were padlocked. We were in luck.
Each chest was also marked with a name, written in faded black ink. It looked like a stencil had been used. Two chests had the name ‘Widegates’ stenciled about six inches below the latches in the centre at the front. Two others showed the name Seaton, though this time it was stenciled on the top of the lid. Another two were marked as Liskeard, again stenciled on the lid, and the last chest had just two huge letters, ‘HF’, painted on the front in slashes of peeling white paint.
“Ok” said Dad. “First we get the chests onto the floor, then we go through whatever’s inside them. Oliver, can you and Max help me get the top ones down?” With Dad taking one end of the chest, and Max and I the other, we moved the top five chests onto the floor. Luckily the three chests at the top weren’t heavy, but it was hard work moving the two in the middle. When we finished with had all the chests set in a fan shape across the floor, two near the shelves, three in front of the far wall, and two that we didn’t have to move, against the right wall. Dad pointed at the two chests that had been on the bottom. “I think there’s been some flooding in here. See how the wood is rotted at the bottom. Whatever books are in these chests are likely to be quite brittle after so long. We’ll need to be careful.”
“Now, before we divvy up the work, let’s see what we have.” Dad moved over to the chests near the shelves and knelt beside it. We all moved over and stood behind him. The latches on the chest were green and corroded. “That’s verdigris” said Dad. “These chests are pretty old. I’m sure the metal on the chests is copper. Or at least brass. And it must have been here a long time to have this sort of build-up.” Dad pulled at the clasps but each one was too corroded to open. Dad scratched his chin and thought for a minute, then he took our Mrs. Mahoney’s huge key. “Let’s see how this works” he said, and gave each clasp a solid whack with the blade of the key. This loosened both latches and he pulled each one open with a small screech. Then, holding the tongue of each latch, he lifted the lid. The hinges on the back of the lid opened stiffly, with small s
hrieks and creaks.
As Dad pushed the lid back we all moved forward to see what was inside. But the chest was only half full. Two rows of books were stacked across the inside, five to each row. I guessed that there were probably about four or five rows, so only about forty or fifty books in the chest. If it was the same with all the chests, even the heavy ones, then there must be a little over three hundred books. That wasn’t very many. We were going to be finished in no time. Dad reached into the chest and carefully picked up one of the books. It had a dark red cover and black binding. The title on the front said ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ in ornate black writing.
Dad slowly opened the front cover, then slowly turned over the first few pages. “It seems Ok” he said, shaking his head. He sounded surprised. “The paper’s going yellow but there’s no cracking.” He turned the book around and inspected the spine. “All the stitching is intact. And no bugs or water damage either. Amazing.” He scratched his chin again and stared at the title page. “Printed in 1864. These books might be quite interesting, even if we don’t find anything about the treasure.