The Treasure of Netherstrand

Chapter 47

A burst of frigid air gave Timothy a shove as he ran down the path. Raindrops were pattering all around him, and the sea was beginning to rage. Its waves reached up in sharp peaks, and the wind thrust them against the rocks and sand.

The little boy stuffed Hannover's mail beneath his jacket. Not one raindrop could touch the crisp envelopes. Tim was determined to keep them pristine for Hannover's sake. And yet, he was sadly certain that the man wouldn't have noticed either way. His master had handed those letters to him quickly, thoughtlessly, carelessly. Timothy had paused just in case the man might have said something more to him, but Hannover had only begun mumbling to himself about his money and plans. No, his master wasn't likely to notice anything Timothy did, good or bad. But still, the child was determined to do good.

The road to town seemed longer than usual as the wind fought against the boy. When he got back to Netherstrand, his fingertips and nose were almost numb from the chilling wind and rain. He threw off his damp coat and volunteered to clean pots with the scullery maids.

"Gracious me, Tim, you're a sight!" Mary said as she passed him by. "All wind-chaffed an' cold from the storm!" She smoothed down his tousled hair and put a kiss on his cold cheek. For a moment, the boy's heart thrilled with joy. A little shine came back to his eyes as he looked up at the motherly woman.

Until then, Tim hadn't thought about the cold, even though he was shivering. What was one more affliction on top of his misery? It seemed like everything was meant to be miserable right then. But he found the strength to smile past his sorrows for Mary's sake.

"Arthur would say there's a big ol' storm a-blowin' in," he said. "I wish he an' Gracie would come back soon," he added with a sigh.

"Don't mind it, dearie," Mary laughed. "I 'ave an inkling we can keep you busy enough not to fink about 'em. Come 'elp me role out this pie crust, little man!"

Tim jumped to obey, and Mary was right: there was hardly a spare moment that day. If no one could think of an errand for Timothy to do, he made one up or volunteered his help to the first person he met. And if there truly was nothing to be done, he braved the fierce wind and sat on the bluff, watching the sea toss and writhe below him.

The waves were reaching toward the bluff with outstretched arms as if they wanted to touch the very place where Timothy was sitting. He watched them crash against the shoreline, mesmerized by their power. Then, suddenly, darkness began falling around him.

The lad snapped out of his thoughts. He felt confused for a moment. Had he stayed there so long that night had overtaken him? It seemed possible. He hadn't paid any attention to time. But as he looked around, he could see the clouds gathering, thick and black, above him. There was a sudden stillness in the air that made him marvel. But that lull in the weather's temper somehow filled the boy with unexplainable dread. Without lingering a minute longer, he sprinted back to the castle. The door slammed shut behind him, and a minute later, sheets of rain were pouring down over the countryside.

"Brace yerselves," Mr. Forester cried, running in a few minutes later. "'Tis a bad storm that! The wind's like to blow the stable t' pieces, an' the 'osses be wild wiv fright! Where's Mr. Hannover? I need a word wiv 'im!"

"Good luck to you then, old man!" Rory bid with a laugh. "He ain't been a bit o' 'elp ever since that treasure got found. Why, if it weren't for us doin' all our duties by honesty, the whole 'otel would fall apart! But I expect ol' Sebastian wouldn't allow that for anyfing! It's 'im you ought t' talk to."

Forester was off instantly. And, out of curiosity, Tim followed behind him. They found Sebastian looking out at the storm with interest.

"Sir, the wind be too much ver the stable. The wood's old, an' that gale be blowin' fierce-like!"