Chapter 10

On their way home, Frances insisted on hearing what Reg and George had arranged. Reg told her, “We are going to stay at a good hotel in Scarborough, the Royal. It was built in 1830, but is well-looked-after. Winston Churchill said it was his favourite hotel. Like the larger Grand Hotel, it has views out over the South Bay. I think it will impress Jessica.”

“What rooms have you, or rather, George booked, darling?”

“A double and a single, so that Sidra has a room to herself.”

“I see. What you mean is, she has been shunted off, so that you and Jessica can have privacy to have sex together?”

“Not quite, Frances. I asked for the single room to be adjacent to the double, ‘for we are one family’, as I told the hotel. Still, Jessica has the chance of some privacy, I agree; and perhaps some fun!”

“Hmmmph!” was Frances’ reaction, and she concentrated on the short drive home.

Fiona remarked, “Reg has become quite adept at social converse; hasn’t he, Frances?”

She replied tersely, “Yes,” then relaxed into a smile, repeating, “Yes, he has.”

Arriving home, Reg went to inform Jessica and Sidra of the plans for midweek, including the old car Jessica would be driving.

“When do I get to drive it for practice, Reg?”

“Ask Frances to phone the Robsons and sort that out, Jessica. We also have to top up the fuel tank before we leave.”

Sidra asked Reg, “What about Elizabeth, Reg? I’ll be away for a few days, and she has latched on to me somewhat. She needs some backup, some reassurance. Can you get the twins to look after her and make sure she is doing the right things to lose weight, but give her every encouragement on top of that?”

“I’ll get right on to that, Sidra. It is a valid observation, and worth supporting. You are showing true compassion towards others less fortunate than you. Excellent!”

On Monday evening Frances got a call from her father about the gemstones. The genuine stones had found ready buyers, and the numbers in stones and prices were high enough that the total came to nearly eighty thousand pounds. He told Frances that eight thousand would be coming her way, or rather the family’s way, as soon as he got the money and could make the ten per cent transfer.

She thanked her father, and asked about the artwork. He explained that he was still waiting for the auction of these pieces.

“The process is so slow, you would not believe, Frances. The auction firm have to provide a detailed description of every item they are offering, and that takes time. They are going to put about half the pictures into their first auction, and the others will go into the next auction. At least the feedback that we are getting is that the pictures and sculptures are all good quality works. It makes you wonder again where they came from. I am suspicious about the lack of provenance. We are getting over the provenance problem for the sale by reporting that the collection was found in an abandoned basement; which is more or less true. It means that some of the pictures are being labelled as ‘thought to be by’, which reduces the value.

I think they were somehow removed from private collections that were not publicly recorded. Some may have originally come from unrecorded Jewish families in the 2nd World War, so there is no-one to make a valid claim of ownership. All the known confiscated items are already out there for comparison.”

“That is not your fault, Daddy. They may have passed through so many hands that they are now non-attributable to any owner. They are effectively clear of any known theft.”

“I expect you are correct, Frances. It doesn’t make me feel any easier.”

“Perhaps not, Daddy, but they are yours instead of belonging to a criminal. Look at it that way: the pictures are helping the right people this time.”

He brightened, saying, “Another matter: the cash in the safe: your share will be coming to you as well. This building has been a bit of an unexpected goldmine for me. Do you think you and your family could make use of it for the rest of your academic years?”

“That would be nice, if it were possible, Daddy. What were you thinking?”

“Well, as you are part of a fairly large household now, it doesn’t make sense to sell the building and turf you all out. How about I guarantee your family’s sole use of the building until you all graduate, then we can review the situation? You can consider that a belated wedding gift.”

Frances let out a small squeal of delight.

“Daddy, you are a darling man. Reg and the girls will be delighted! They really like this place with all its space, and it would be extremely difficult to find anything equivalent at a decent price. Yes, please, Daddy. We accept your offer, and we’ll keep it in good condition for you. We’ll also pay the rates and insurance for it: we can afford to, now.”

Reg reported to his lecturers that he had to be away on ‘family business’ for several days next week, and promised to get caught up later. This caused a little hilarity, for the lecturer stared at him and said with a grin, “You are probably already ahead of my lectures, Mr Robertson. Don’t worry about it. We can compare notes once you are back. Do you have to travel far?”

“Yorkshire, sir. We will stay at Scarborough for convenience.”

“Sounds well organised. Scarborough is a nice town. It isn’t their fault that Jimmy Saville the dee-jay lecher came from there. How many of your wives are going with you?”

“None, sir. Their studies are important to them and they don’t want to miss anything. A friend will go with me, and her teenage daughter. Neither has seen Scarborough before, so they will enjoy visiting the place.”

“Have fun then, my boy.”

The same morning, Frances had run Jessica up to the Robson farm, before returning to collect her passengers for the university. Jessica was introduced to the farming family and got instruction from the Robsons on the vagaries of the old but reliable diesel-engined Volvo V50 that George Robson was lending them. She ran it around the farmyard and on the road nearby, until she was happy driving it. George told her the PDF had been cleaned and the tyres checked, so she shouldn’t have any problems.

George and Janet waved her goodbye, and Jessica drove it back home, to show to Carol, Holly and Sidra. The newcomer, Elizabeth, hung back to watch the excitement. Carol and Holly claimed it was dusty inside and pretty grotty outside, so they were soon back with cleaning materials, and all four set to, to bring it up to presentable condition. By the time Reg and his wives got home, the car was sitting outside, clean and shiny outside, and clean and sweet-smelling inside.

Reg was delighted by the look of it.

“This is great, Jessica. It surely wasn’t in this condition when you got it?”

“No, but the twins and Sidra, and even Elizabeth, mucked in and we got it cleaned up. All we need do is top up the fuel tank and we are ready to go.”

Tuesday was selected as the start day, with Friday planned for the return trip, so Jessica packed for her and Sidra, and Frances insisting on packing Reg’s bag. He was allowed to pack his detector unit and any accessories he felt he should have for it, and stow them in the boot behind the various other bags.

When they set off on Tuesday morning, Jessica drove, with Reg as navigator, carrying enough cash and a credit card to pay for fuel and meals during the journey north. The navigation was mainly how to get to the nearest motorway going north – the M1 – and once on that route, the signage was easy to follow. From the MI turn-off it was the A64 dual carriageway to Scarborough, so not easy to get lost.

Sidra excitedly declared as they approached Scarborough, “There’s a lovely lake over there on the right. What is it called, Reg?”

“If I recall right, it should be Scarborough Mere. I remember thinking that it was an unusual name for a lake, and did some searching. The word is related to the Dutch word ‘meer’: a large shallow lake impounded from the sea, and more generally to other spelling variations in French, Spanish and even the Latin ‘mare’. The older versions relate to the sea, but ‘mere’ lost its marine connotation and now means a shallow lake.”

Jessica interrupted, “We are coming into the town now. Where do I go, Reg?”

“You turn right onto the A165: Valley Bridge Road, then find the first decent turn left towards the sea. We are looking for St. Nicholas Street, which faces the sea.”

After some minor confusion about turns and possible one-way streets, they arrived at the hotel. After checking in with their baggage, Jessica and Reg left Sidra to sort out getting to the rooms while they went off to find a place to park the car and walk back. Reg didn’t want to leave Jessica having to make her way back on her own. He also wanted to see where the car was parked, and make sure it was long-term parking. It being winter, the expected problem turned out to be simpler than he thought. Scarborough’s busy time was the summer months.

He then wrote down the car’s registration number and the parking location, in a note-pad he kept in a pocket for essential data. As he explained to Jessica, “In a conurbation, it is too easy to forget where you parked, unless it is always the same place!”

They walked slowly back to the hotel, and Jessica took Reg’s hand as they went. She wanted to show she was with him, and happy to be so. Reg, on the other hand, wondered to himself if people might assume he was her son.

They settled into the hotel. The proprietors had acceded to the request for a single room next to the double room, and Sidra found her bed to be quite comfortable to lie on. She did comment that she had hoped to be in the same room as her mother, so that she could see what they got up to in bed, but finished the comment with a laugh, showing that she was joking.

Reg looked up the data he had for the farm where he was to prospect, and phoned before dinner. His call was well received, and he was invited to call round in the morning to see the field and make plans. He said he would bring his detector to show them how it worked.

That fixed, Reg, Jessica and Sidra went to the hotel dining room for their evening meal. The prices were not cheap, but the cuisine was of a high level, so Reg was happy to pay for it. He was getting into the way of being able to splash out without worrying about the cost. They all retreated to the double room to plan out their next few days.

As they discussed what Jessica and Sidra wanted to see, they found their choice restricted, for many of the attractions were tourist season only. Reg suggested for the morning tour the Rotunda museum, as it had exhibitions on Jurassic fossil dinosaurs, including a plesiosaur found near Filey, and a unique tree burial of a bronze age man. There were also objects from the excavations at Starr Carr, a stone age village uncovered in Yorkshire.

The nearby Art Gallery in The Crescent would also be worthwhile, Reg suggested.

Reg also suggested trying out the short funicular railway, or South Cliff lift, between the Esplanade and Scarborough Spa. It was an experience all of its own: an 87 metre trip on a 1:1.75 gradient. He gave Jessica enough cash for any of the places they might try, and for lunch. He promised to be back from the farm sometime during the afternoon, and would phone Jessica to give her details and arrange to meet.

The rest of the evening was spent settling themselves into their rooms, checking out the facilities, and gazing out at the bay, the marine activities there, and the lights of vessels further out to sea. One was a huge liner with hundreds of lit cabin windows.

Sidra was reluctantly diverted to her own room, as Reg and Jessica wanted to retire to bed early. She was told what time to set her travel alarm for the morning wake-up, and was surprised it was so early. Jessica set her own travel alarm to wake them early enough to make love, shower and dress before collecting Sidra and going down to a leisurely breakfast.

After a sumptuous breakfast, Reg collected his gear together and got the hotel to ring for a taxi to take him to the Robson farm, which was only a few miles distant, near East Ayton village. The ladies were left to explore on their own. The driver took him to the farm door and waited until Reg sorted out when he wanted to be collected. Reg gathered his gear and got out.

The door opened before he arrived at it, and an elderly man greeted him. At least, Reg viewed him as elderly, but he was only middle-aged.

“Mr Robertson, is it? You are expected.” He noticed the taxi waiting, and remarked, “You will have lunch with us, Mr Robertson, so tell your driver you’ll call him when you need him, later in the day.”

Reg went back to the driver, who handed him a card with his phone number. “Just ring when you need me, sir.” Reg handed over his credit card, to pay the outward fare.

After the taxi had gone, Mr Robson introduced himself.

“Charles Robson. My late brother had the farm and he found the coin George mentioned. We only know the field, but not where in the field it was found. It is a fair sized expanse to search, I must warn you, Mr Robertson.”

“Can I get to see the field for myself, sir, so that I can plan my search strategy?”

“You have a strategy? How?”

“It depends on the shape of the field, and how deep the soil is in specific parts. If it was a square field, I would aim to work on the diagonals to give me a sampling, for a rough idea of what might be there. If the person burying something wanted to be as far from the tracks as possible, he might have used the centre of the field for the deposit. You see, if there are trees round the field margin, the roots are a problem for someone hand digging a hole, unless the trees are more recent than the time of the deposit. If the field is on a slope, the deposit is more likely to be on the lower part, as the shallower areas might get exposed too quickly. The person hiding the stash would not want that.”

“I am starting to follow your thinking, Mr Robertson. You are quite clever for a detectorist, or at least what I expected of a detectorist.”

“I am a university student who recently acquired the equipment, sir. I apply my mind to the problems; that is all,” said Reg diffidently.

“My nephew says you found something on his farm.”

“Yes, sir. Sheer serendipity on my part, as I didn’t know much about techniques then, and that was the only field he had available for me to walk over. I now know a lot more. The machine is quite adaptable, I found.”

“So, a profitable hobby, then?

“In this instance, it was. The machine was unexpectedly gifted to me and became a means of getting out and about, for some exercise, and out from under the feet of my family. The finds were a marvellous bonus!”

Mr Robson smiled at this information, and gestured ahead. “Go to the end of this farm track, and it is through the gate on your left. I don’t need the extra exercise nowadays. Come back to the farm once you are ready. We have lunch around one p.m. and we can hear your initial assessment at that time.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Reg examined the field. I had a slight slope to it, and low hedges on two sides; fencing on the other two sides. The shape was roughly rectangular, so he decided to go for the diagonals as a test run.

Over the next half hour he found nails galore, a 1797 penny, what looked like horse brasses, and unidentifiable pieces of iron. All the finds went into the strong plastic bag he had in his pocket. Nothing silver turned up, but he had learned to be patient.

An hour later, on the second diagonal search, he found something interesting. It was a single silver coin, much corroded, so for his own assistance, he noted the GPS coordinates, then continued on the line. That was all he found apart from metal junk.

Time was pushing towards twelve forty-five, so Reg stopped for his lunch break, and headed back to the farmhouse, where he explained his limited results and handed over his bag of junk finds to be looked through. The family’s daughters were intrigued by the large copper penny, until he explained how common and almost worthless these were. Their interest was immediately abandoned. The family welcomed him into the dining room and explained that lunch would soon be ready. It was a hotpot stew, so he said he would be delighted with that fare.

Charles, as the head of the household, enquired of Reg as they sat down at the table, “Did you come on your own, Mr Robertson? My nephew implied that you were a married man.”

“Indeed I am, sir, much married, but we are university students, so I was going to come here on my own; except that we had a Pakistani friend and her teenage daughter visiting us, so I invited them to come and see Scarborough. They had never been to Scarborough before, despite them being born and bred in England.”

“So where are they now?”

“I left them a selection of attractions to try – the Rotunda, the art gallery, the funicular – and some cash to pay for entry fees and lunch. I promised to be back at the Palace Hotel mid-afternoon to meet them before we prepare for dinner. The teenager was rather excited at getting to see everything.”

“That must be costing a fair amount for the hotel rooms.”

“Sir, with what I found at your nephew’s farm, I can now afford to splash out a little, but your nephew generously offered to cover the costs if I found nothing significant. I am happy to indulge Jessica and Sidra, for they had a bad time before.”

“A bad time? What do you mean by that? Had they been in an accident, or something?”

“Not that, sir. Jessica’s husband was a wife-beater, and started hitting the daughter, so they are glad to escape from him. They are hiding with us for now, while they heal and recover. They are doing well that way.”

Charles looked over at his wife, and she nodded, knowing what was on his mind.

“Mr Robertson, do you think your friends would like to see a working farm?”

“I like that idea, sir. Their upbringing was an urban one in the south, so a farm would be quite an unusual experience for them.”

“Well, bring them with you tomorrow morning. Do they have any special dietary requirements, being Pakistani?”

“None, sir. They are a Christian family, so normal English food is fine with them. Sidra is being home-schooled by us, so that her father can’t track her by school registers. Learning about how a farm works will be useful knowledge for her: biology, environmental science, and so on will all add to her knowledgebase.”

The farmer seemed impressed with that revelation, and nodded sagely.

The arrival of the hotpot spurred Charles to take the plates to the pot and start dishing out the meal.

Charles’ wife had heard some of the discussion and suggested, “Both of the ladies can spend some time with me in the kitchen, and see how we cook our meals here, with so many fresh ingredients readily at hand.”

Reg declared, “Hey, that sounds a great idea, Mrs Robson. If I have time, I’d love to see your kitchen as well.”

“What? A man wanting to explore my kitchen? Whatever next?”

“Ma’am, I grew up having to make my own meals most of the time, so I am familiar with kitchens; but a farm kitchen is probably more unusual in layout and equipment. That is what interests me; it is something new to learn.”

“It may be so, lad, but I have spent most of my adult life around farm kitchens, so I can’t make valid comparisons.”

The two men and another couple of ladies, Charles’ daughters, settled down to eat after Charles said grace, and silence prevailed for a time. Reg noted that both daughters were a bit overweight, and assumed they were indulged too much.

Once the plates were emptied, Mrs Robson brought in the sweet: a steamed pudding. Reg felt filled up by the time he was finished, but was persuaded to have a small cup of strong coffee. He thanked Mrs Robson profusely for the great meal, which made her blush with pleasure.

As soon as he could, Reg set out again with his detector, for the next section of the field. He returned to the spot where he unearthed the silver coin, then cast around in a circle of a two-metre radius, in the hopes of catching the source of the coin.

At first, he continued to find nails and screws, then another silver coin. Now he set the detector for silver at depth, and swung his machine over the same area again. This found him another silver coin about a foot away from the previous one. Reg was feeling frustrated as he did another pass to the left and right of the latest find, but all he got was a slight indication. This could be something at greater depth as he was on the limit of his detector’s depth range in this type of soil.

Back he went over the same places, moving very slowly, watching for every indication of a hit by using a generalised search. He found a positive reading at depth, and proceeded to excavate it. What he found was a rock of six to eight inches in diameter, and he suddenly remembered a reference to ‘hot rocks’, which were stones with a high degree of iron inclusion. Reg picked up the stone in disgust, and hurled it towards the edge of the field, so as not to be a continuing distraction.

With the stone out of the way, he re-examined the location, this time using the search mode for silver. This reduced the depth sensitivity but should show up the presence of any silver. Reg persevered, moving little by little, until he found a spike in the responses, but unclear as to exact location.

Digging again, he had to go down so far and then try again with his detector inside the hole. This helped steer him in the right direction, and eventually he got a stronger signal. Digging towards it, he came up against a concretion that he reckoned was another lump of silver coins stuck together or held together with sticky clay soil.

It took him ages to dig round it sufficiently to lever the lump out of the tenacious hard clay subsoil, and get a plastic bag wrapped round it underneath. That let him lever it into the bag and heave it up out of the hole.

By gum, it is quite a weight, he told himself. With luck, that should mean it is mostly coins and very little filling between the coins, unless there was something else inside that was heavy. He persevered, and using two hands hauled the concretion to the field’s surface, and dragged it to one side.

Reg returned his detector to the now ragged hole, for a final check of the location. There was a further spike at the same spot, so he guessed at two leather bags of coins, one on top of the other, with the leather long gone.

Another twenty minutes of digging and lifting saw him heave another similar heavy lump up to the surface.

Now he had a new problem: how to transport these two heavy lumps back to the farmhouse.

Reg thought for a while, while he sat on the soil of the field to catch his breath after all the exertion. The best solution he could come up with was to bury them again, in a shallow trench, which would make it easy to unearth them, once he had the spot fixed by GPS, yet hidden from casual inspection. His idea was to drag them back to the farm in a couple of sacks, if the farm had sacks to loan him.

He was spurred on by finding his bottom damp from sitting on the clay soil. It must have been damper than he expected; now he could do with getting his pants dry again!

He set to and buried the lumps as he had decided, smoothing the surface to be similar to the surrounding soil, and made a note of the GPS location. For his own use, Reg fished in his top pocket, and stuck his pencil in the ground above the location, to make it easier to spot once he got to the GPS coordinates.

Checking the time, he spent the next half hour making a random walk over the field, digging at every hit that his detector found, and adding more junk to his bag. He then found another silver coin and marked its location for further investigation; then he realised it was in line with his finds, based on the plough furrows, so was probably from the same source.

Finally he headed back to the farmhouse and begged a couple of strong sacks to collect his concretions the next morning. His plan was to call the local Finds Liaison Officer to register these finds with him. Charles did an internet search, and gave Reg a contact telephone number in York. It was a woman’s name attached to the officer post. He rang the number and chatted to her, telling her where he was phoning from, getting the postcode from Charles for her. She was available to come to the site during the coming morning, and be present when Reg dug up the concretions, which he was sure were silver coins.

“I believe this makes them Treasure Trove, ma’am.”

“Not quite. The 1996 Act changed the designation to Treasure, and reduced the noble metal content somewhat. A concretion of probable old silver coins does fit the criteria for my services, so I shall be there.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll look forward to that meeting.”

Checking his watch, Reg thought it was time he was making his arrangements to get back to Scarborough, and rang his taxi number. The man promised to be there within a half-hour, once he had dropped his current fare.

This allowed Reg to give his hosts an update. “Please keep an eye on the field for now, as I believe I have found the source of the original silver coin. I’ll be back in the morning to meet the Finds Liaison Officer here, and excavate the concretions I found. I now have to get back to my hotel and find the ladies. Many thanks for your help today. I’ll need these two sacks tomorrow, to drag the concretions back to the farmhouse, for examination.”

An hour later, Reg was at the hotel, and when he entered his hotel room he was surprised to find Jessica and Sidra sitting there.

“Hello! What are you two doing here? I though you would be out exploring the town, and I was going to wait for you.”

Jessica smiled at him, Sidra sitting demurely by her side.

“We did that this morning, and had a nice snack meal at one of the cafes; we were still fairly full from our big breakfast. A lady mentioned the information centre at the public library on Vernon Street, not far from here, so we popped in there and picked up some leaflets and advice. We got back here some time ago and just sat and chatted. We realised we had spent very little time together, just the two of us, in the last year or so; so we just chatted about what things now mattered to us girls.”

Reg showed his delight with a big grin.

“That is wonderful! Talking to other people about your life and experiences, your likes, desires, and hopes is a great thing to be able to do. As a young man growing up I did not recognise what I was missing in that way, not having any siblings, and a mother who seldom talked meaningfully with me. It was only after my girls took me in hand that I got to know the value of discussing those things that are important in your life.”

Jessica told him, “When my husband was around, it was difficult to speak of our real feelings. We tended to talk in platitudes and circumlocutions that had little meaning, but were safe topics. Now Sidra and myself are able to let each other know our true feelings. It has been illuminating, hasn’t it, Sidra, my bayti?”

The teenager blushed slightly before teling Reg, “Mum and I have been able to talk about things that girls need to talk about in private. I never felt free to unload my concerns before. That was another of the reasons for running away from home: frustration. Your girls have been very helpful in talking with me, girl to girl; but getting to talk about these things with your own mother is so much more rewarding.”

Reg ventured, “In that case, should I leave you for another while, so that your discussion can go on? I can go check on what the dinner menu is for this evening, and I think I’ll watch the news channel for a while, to catch up with what the world has been up to without my input!”

Jessica gazed at him gratefully, and said, “That would be lovely, you darling man. Come back in about an hour, and we can get a report on what you did at the farm.”

Reg stopped and blurted out, “I nearly forgot the most important thing I wanted to tell you – the farm folk want you to come tomorrow, and we can all have lunch together in the farmhouse. They seem very nice people. Mrs Robson talked about preparing the lunch together with you two, if you are interested.”

“We can probably do that, Reg. It would be interesting to both of us. See you later, then.”

Reg left them to their discussion, and went back downstairs. The TV news was all doom and gloom, as usual, mostly caused by people who assumed that only they could be right and that everyone else was wrong. It depressed him. He abandoned the television and found that the hotel had a small library of pleasant reading for residents.

There he found an interesting book, ‘Atoms under the floorboards’, and started browsing through it. Before he knew it, the time check on the TV struck his ears, and he remembered his appointment upstairs. He set off, prepared to apologise for being late.

He tapped the door and opened it to step cautiously inside. He needn’t have worried.