Aunt Dimity and the Buried Treasure (16 page)

Bill and Bess were out when I got home. A note on the kitchen table informed me that they'd gone to the Cotswold Farm Park to visit the goats and that they'd pick the boys up from school on their way back.

The ingredients Bill had laid out on the table indicated that we were to have spaghetti with meat sauce for dinner. I made sure we had a wedge of Parmesan on hand, then went to the study, switched on the mantel lamps, and said hello to Reginald.

“I'm back from London,” I told him. “No sightseeing, unless you count the British Museum's south entrance, but it was a good day—a
great
day—nonetheless.” I took the gold and garnet bracelet from my shoulder bag and ran a finger across its intricately inlaid surface, wondering how Stephen Waterford, the renowned Egyptologist, had managed to lay his hands on a piece of Anglo-Saxon jewelry. “Monday should be even more interesting.”

Reginald's black button eyes gleamed inquisitively. I twiddled his ears, placed the bracelet in his niche, and took the blue journal with me to a tall leather armchair.

“Dimity?” I said triumphantly as I opened the journal. “I have very nearly achieved the impossible.”

Aunt Dimity's graceful handwriting began at once to loop and curl across the page.

Are you referring to the impossible task I so inconsiderately asked you to achieve? Did the Battle of Britain boys come through for you?

“With flying colors,” I said. “They couldn't tell me much about
Badger, but they introduced me to someone who could. You won't believe it, Dimity, but I've been chatting with Mr. Hanover's great-granddaughter.”

Mr. Hanover? The man who owned the Rose Café?

“The one and only,” I said. “His great-granddaughter's name is Sarah Hanover, and she grew up hearing about you and Badger.”

What in heaven's name did she hear about us?

I recounted Nigel Hanover's story of star-crossed lovers and the chance encounter in Russell Square that had provided him with the story's unexpected conclusion.

“Mr. Hanover didn't know the whole story because Badger didn't know it,” I said, “but he learned enough from Badger to quench his curiosity.”

How I wish I'd told Badger about Bobby MacLaren! It would have saved him so much heartache.

“Mr. Hanover didn't get the impression that Badger regretted the breakup,” I said. “Badger admitted that in the long run, he was grateful for it. He ran away from you to concentrate on his career, and he made a success of it. Sarah told me Badger's real name, Dimity, and it's a fairly well-known one.”

I'll always think of him as Badger, but go ahead: Tell me his real name.

“He's Stephen Waterford,” I said.

The Egyptologist?

“Y-yes,” I faltered, caught off guard. “How on earth do you know who Stephen Waterford is? I'd never heard of him until today.”

Stephen Waterford made a number of quite remarkable discoveries in the Middle East. I read about them in the
Times
. The articles were accompanied by photographs of a clean-shaven man with closely cropped hair. He looked nothing like the man who'd shared his table with me at the Rose Caf
é.

“The café wasn't lit very well,” I reminded her. “And there's a
reason beards are used in disguises. They change the way a person looks.”

Even so, I should have detected some resemblance. It simply never crossed my mind that my well-educated gardener might be an eminent archaeologist. I can't tell you how pleased I am.

“I have news that will please you even more,” I said. “I'm meeting Stephen Waterford at his home on Monday.”

Oh, well done, Lori! Very well done, indeed! You'll tell him about Bobby? You'll tell him why I never married? You'll tell him how much his friendship meant to me and how grateful I was for his advice and guidance? You'll show him that I kept the bracelet until my dying day?

“I will,” I promised. I hesitated, but couldn't keep myself from asking, “Did you ever visit the Sutton Hoo exhibition at the British Museum?”

I'm afraid I never got past the Greek, Roman, and Egyptian collections on the ground floor. Why do you ask?

“Adam Rivington wants to show the Sutton Hoo collection to Will and Rob,” I said. “He thinks they'll find it interesting.”

Everything at the British Museum is interesting.

The garnet bracelet drew my gaze, and I wondered yet again how Badger had acquired it. He hadn't always been a highly respected Egyptologist. He'd been young once, and as Bill had said, young men in love had been known to do crazier things. Would Badger's youthful indiscretion come back to haunt him because of a clumsy accident in my attic?

I looked from the bracelet to the blue journal. I'd seldom known Aunt Dimity to be so elated, but her elation would be short-lived if I cluttered the moment with nebulous accusations of wrongdoing. After a brief hesitation, I steered the conversation away from Anglo-Saxon treasures.

“I almost forgot to tell you about Adam and Sarah,” I said, and went on to describe how well the two had hit it off. “There must be some Rose Café magic lingering in Carrie's coffeehouse,” I concluded, “because Adam fell for Sarah as instantaneously as Badger fell for you.”

Let's hope Adam's road to happiness is more straightforward than Badger's was.

“I'm working on it.” I heard the crunch of tires in our graveled driveway and looked toward the diamond-paned windows above the old oak desk. “The family's home, Dimity. I haven't seen them since breakfast, so would you mind if I . . . ?”

I won't keep you from them any longer than it takes for me to tell you how very, very grateful I am to you for pursuing my wild goose chase.

“Don't be silly,” I said. “It was a piece of cake.”

As the curving lines of royal-blue ink faded from the page, I hoped with all my heart that Aunt Dimity's wild goose chase would end happily.

S
aturday dawned fresh and fair. After a leisurely breakfast, Bill drove Will and Rob to Anscombe Manor for their weekly riding lessons, and I drove Bess to Finch to pick up a gallon of milk at the Emporium.

The village green appeared to be devoid of metal detectorists when Bess and I crossed the humpbacked bridge. I wondered if the villagers had lost interest in James Hobson's hobby until I remembered that Saturday was sale day in Upper Deeping. Nothing, not even the joy of unearthing lost wedding rings, would keep my neighbors at home when there were bargains to be found in the nearby market town.

I parked the Range Rover in front of the Emporium, lifted Bess from her car seat, and took a deep breath before entering the shop. I always took a deep breath before I dealt with Peggy Taxman because she tended to knock the wind out of me.

Jasper Taxman was shelving bags of potato chips when the sleigh bells dangling from the Emporium's front door announced our arrival, and Peggy was in her usual place behind the old-fashioned mechanical cash register. Her pointy, rhinestone-studded eyeglasses seemed to flash dangerously when she caught sight of me.

“If you've come here to beg for my glass case,” she thundered, “you can save your breath!”

Peggy Taxman rarely spoke softly. Her deafening pronouncements made me wince, but Bess thought they were hilarious. The moment Peggy opened her mouth, Bess began to laugh.

Peggy was too full of righteous indignation to acknowledge her biggest fan.

“I've got better things to do with my display case than to fill it with a load of old rubbish,” she bellowed.

“I wasn't going to—” I began, but I got no further.

“Elspeth Binney came marching in here as bold as brass on Thursday to ask me for it,” Peggy boomed scathingly. “Thought I might like to put my old hair clip in it, the one Sally Cook dug up. Can you imagine? Putting a mucky old hair clip that isn't worth tuppence on display for all the world to see?
And putting my name with it?
It's foolishness, that's what it is!”

“I think Elspeth meant—” I subsided again as Peggy overrode me.

“It's that man's fault,” she bellowed. “That so-called clever clogs, James Hobson. It's no wonder his cliff-top village is falling into the sea. The place never stood a chance with him chopping away at the cliffs! Him and his talk about digging up history. Pah! Some things are best left buried!”

I checked Bess's diaper, straightened the ribbons on the pale pink cap Millicent Scroggins had crocheted for her, and allowed Peggy's diatribe to wash over me.

“Lilian Bunting is out there right now, wasting her time with that infernal contraption of his,” she shouted. “A vicar's wife! Playing in the dirt! Have you ever heard of such a thing? I expect more dignified behavior from a woman in her position, and you can be sure I'll tell the vicar so after church tomorrow morning!”

“Lilian's using James's metal detector?” I said while Peggy paused for breath.

“I saw her with my own eyes,” Peggy roared. “That Hobson fellow took himself off somewhere, but they're still out there, Lilian Bunting and Mr. Barlow, ruining the turf behind the war memorial.
Looking for another hair clip, I'll wager. Well, you can tell them from me that I only ever lost one!”

“I'll do that,” I said, and after nodding to Jasper, I turned on my heel and left the Emporium.

If Lilian and Mr. Barlow had been behind the war memorial when I'd driven over the humpbacked bridge, it stood to reason that I wouldn't have been able to see them. Now that I knew where they were, however, I felt an irresistible urge to join them. I pulled the pram from the Rover and set it up as quickly as I could with only one free hand at my disposal. When everything was locked into place, including Bess, I strolled up the cobbled lane to search for the searchers.

The first person we encountered, however, was Elspeth Binney. Most uncharacteristically, she was on her own. I couldn't recall the last time I'd seen one Handmaiden without the other three.

“Good morning, Elspeth,” I said. “Why aren't you in Upper Deeping with Millicent, Opal, and Selena? It's sale day, isn't it?”

“I'm afraid my association with the women you've mentioned is over,” she replied stiffly.

“Since when?” I said, startled.

“Since yesterday,” she answered. “I'm not an intolerant person, Lori, but there are some outrages that cannot be tolerated.”

“What happened yesterday?” I asked, and for a moment I came close to regretting my trip to London.

“My
dear friends
,” she said, her voice laden with sarcasm, “showed their true colors.”

“I'm sorry, Elspeth, but you'll have to be more specific,” I said. “I wasn't in Finch yesterday, and I haven't caught up on the news since I've been back.”

As I'd hoped, Elspeth couldn't resist an invitation to describe the
intolerable outrage that had caused her to sever ties with her three closest friends.

“It was Opal's turn with the metal detector,” she began. “I came along to support her, as a friend should. Opal elected to scan the part of the green we'd used for our
en plein air
painting party in September.
En plein air
,” she explained, “means to paint outdoors.”

“I remember the painting party,” I said. “If I recall correctly, you . . . lost something, didn't you?”

“I lost my palette knife,” she said. “It was on my easel when we went to the tearoom for lunch, but it wasn't there when we returned. Since I didn't have another palette knife, I couldn't complete my painting of the old schoolhouse.”

“Did Opal find your palette knife yesterday?” I asked, in an effort to move the story along.

“She did,” Elspeth said in frigid tones.

“But you weren't glad to have it back?” I hazarded.

“I was extremely glad to have it back,” said Elspeth, “but I wasn't glad to hear the remarks made to me after I said, in all innocence, that my painting of the schoolhouse would have won the blue ribbon at the art show, had I been able to complete it. I wasn't boasting, Lori. Mr. Shuttleworth has frequently admired my work with the palette knife.”

“I'm sure he has,” I said soothingly.

“My so-called friends disputed my claim,” she continued. “Millicent said that I had as much chance of winning a blue ribbon at the art show as she had of winning the London Marathon.”

“She
didn't
,” I said, frowning sympathetically.

“She
did
,” Elspeth retorted. “Opal said that my painting looked as though it had been done by a
bricklayer
using a
trowel
.”

“What did Selena say?” I asked avidly.

Elspeth seemed to choke on her own ire, but after a brief pause, she gallantly soldiered on.

“Selena,” she replied, “said that the universe had done the art world a favor when it took away my palette knife.”

“How rude,” I said, while a wicked part of me admired Selena's wit. “Did James Hobson hear all this?”

“No,” said Elspeth. “He'd gone off to speak with the vicar. I suppose I should be grateful that I wasn't humiliated in front of our new neighbor.”

I was grateful that James hadn't witnessed another metal-detecting brouhaha. The taunts, hurt feelings, and division that had followed the palette knife's recovery would have reminded him all too clearly of the pocket watch incident.

“I don't know what I've done to deserve such abuse,” Elspeth went on, her voice quavering with indignation.

“I'm sure you haven't done anything,” I said, jiggling the pram to let Bess know that I hadn't forgotten about her. “I'll bet they were just joking around and it got out of hand.”

“Hurling insults at a friend may be your idea of humor, Lori,” she said loftily, “but it isn't mine.”

“Have they apologized?” I asked.

“As if I'd accept their apologies,” Elspeth said with a sniff. “No, Lori, I shall never forgive them. Some things are patently unforgivable.”

For the first time since Elspeth had begun speaking, I felt a real sense of concern. The Handmaidens were known for their spats, but they'd never had a serious falling out. Until now.

“Will you continue to take lessons from Mr. Shuttleworth?” I inquired.

“Of course I shall,” Elspeth said. “But I shall take them on a
different day, to avoid ignorant and baseless critiques of my knife work.”

“Good idea,” I said, hoping that a cooling-off period would smooth her ruffled feathers. “They'll miss you, you know. They'll come to realize how foolish they were to let a palette knife come between them and one of the most considerate, loyal, and talented friends they've ever had.”

“It'll be their loss, then,” she snapped. “And they'll have no one to blame but themselves.” She looked down at Bess, but instead of beaming at her, she seemed to become even more angry. “If that's one of Millicent's crocheted caps, I'd check it for barbed wire.”

With another sniff, she bade me good day and marched across the green. I watched worriedly as she entered the tearoom without her boon companions.

“It may be a long cooling-off period,” I murmured to Bess, and resumed my walk to the war memorial.