Dead as a Scone (12 page)

Flick gave a slight gasp as she realized that Elspeth had assembled a list of thievery suspects. She, too, had started with the seven other trustees and Conan Davies.

“Two of the names are scratched out,” Flick murmured. “The same two I eliminated.”

Six left. One of them murdered Elspeth Hawker.

Six

A
tray of unadorned biscuits rather than a cart full of jam-covered scones provided sustenance at the emergency meeting of the trustees of the Tunbridge Wells Tea Museum on Wednesday afternoon. Nigel had expected a jibe or two about the simplified menu, which included only one kind of tea, and he wasn’t disappointed.

“I see you’ve put us on half rations, Nigel,” Vicar William de Rudd said. “A symbol, I suppose, of the hardships the museum will face in the years ahead.”

“Either that,” Marjorie Halifax said, “or a reminder that the museum now has four new mouths to feed.” She fought to hold a large blue cat on her lap, plainly a losing battle. “Thank goodness you served us a good cuppa. This really is a charming Formosa Oolong.”

“I admit that the tea is first-rate,” Matthew Eaton said. “Delightful peachy overtones. However, store-bought British biscuits simply won’t do. The only reason I attend these interminable meetings is to eat scones baked by Alain Rousseau.”

Dorothy McAndrews, sitting next to Matthew and wearing an almost identically patterned Harris Tweed jacket, chimed in, “It hardly seems fair that a French chef does brilliant Scottish scones, but there you are.”

“You should consider yourselves blessed to eat plain biscuits today,” Sir Simon Clowes said. “Alain’s scones taste good because they are overloaded with butter. Most of us at this table have reached the age when we require heart-healthy diets. I say that both as friend and physician.”

“It’s not the scones I miss,” Iona Saxby said, “but those lovely homemade conserves that Alain puts up. And the clotted cream, of course.”

Sir Simon groaned. “You must realize that clotted cream is an extraordinarily potent source of cholesterol and that Alain’s cloyingly sweet jams and jellies are almost pure sugar.”

Iona, undeterred, shook her head in mock sadness. “You really have shown us your wretched side, Nigel, by cutting back on our tea break. At heart you are a parsimonious bean counter.”

“Amen!” Archibald Meicklejohn bellowed from his place at the head of the table. “Tightfisted financial leadership is precisely what the Royal Tunbridge Wells Tea Museum requires in the months ahead. The more parsimonious the better.”

Nigel dutifully smiled at the comments made in jest and acknowledged the doctor’s earnest pleas with pensive nods. At least the trustees had loosened up during the past hour. They had arrived at three o’clock in a suitably dismal mood, each clutching a printout of the email Nigel had sent the previous afternoon. The grim document tallied the major antiquities currently owned by the Hawkers and estimated their total market value at more than forty million pounds.

Nigel had surprised the trustees by beginning the special meeting on a lighter note. “You may wonder why I invited a dog, two cats, and a parrot to join us today. Well, on Monday I received the astonishing news that the museum inherited this menagerie and is duty bound to provide lifetime care.”

“Don’t tell me that he went ahead and did it!” Iona wailed. “Despite my urgings, despite my warnings.”

Nigel lifted three sheets of paper stapled together. “I presume that you are talking about this purportedly ironbound contract, entered into between Dame Elspeth Hawker and Nathanial Swithin.”

“Bother!” Iona said. “On occasion, Nathanial can be a nincompoop.”

“One shouldn’t blame Nate,” Marjorie said. “Dame Elspeth could be exceptionally persuasive.”

“Especially when wielding her chequebook,” Sir Simon added.

“A lifetime of care for these animals represents a significant financial commitment by the museum,” Archibald said. “I presume that we were properly compensated. If not, perhaps we can find a way to breach the contract.”

“A total breach may not be necessary,” Iona said. “A court might conclude that we have honored the agreement if we find suitable homes for Dame Elspeth’s pets.”

“That certainly seems fair,” Sir Simon said.

“Not to me!” Dorothy said. “I feel duty bound to speak on behalf of those in the room who cannot speak for themselves
—
specifically, Cha-Cha, Lapsang, Souchong, and Earl. This board has a moral obligation to honor the
spirit
of the agreement made between Nathanial Swithin and Elspeth Hawker. We must provide compassionate care, as Dame Elspeth envisioned we would.”

“I wholly agree,” the Reverend de Rudd said.

“Who speaks for the
other
living things in this museum?” Matthew’s swivel chair clanked as he rocked forward. “Unrestrained cat clawing, bird perching, and dog sprinkling will do irreparable harm to the tea bushes and other plants in the tea garden.”

“Not a problem, Matthew,” Nigel said. “We won’t allow the animals to run loose in the building or gardens. Our chief curator has come up with an ingenious scheme that divides the responsibilities for pet care among our administrative staff, our curators, and our tearoom. It seems to be working perfectly.”

Nigel tilted his head toward Flick, who despite his obvious invitation to join in merely offered an affirmative grunt.

That is not the Felicity Adams I know. Where is her eager smile?
Nigel wondered.
Or the rush of enthusiastic words about her latest accomplishment?

Flick had seemed lost in thought since the meeting with Solicitor Bleasdale on Monday. She had spent most of the past forty-eight hours in the Tea Antiquities Gallery. Every time Nigel had walked by the entrance archway, there was Flick examining one of the Hawker-owned items on display.

Figure out Flick later. There is work to be done now.

Nigel had planned the day’s agenda with thorough attention to detail. After six months, he knew the trustees well enough to orchestrate a meeting that would actually lead to a decision.

Nigel led off with a concise summary of the facts. He reviewed his white paper and described his conversations with Bleasdale about the Hawkers’ intentions to reclaim the antiquities. The trustees, all of them wealthy, understood both the nature of British inheritance taxes and the family’s need to sell off more than a third of Dame Elspeth’s estate. Most nodded grimly when Nigel explained how he and Flick had made ad hoc guesstimates of the collection’s current value.

“I fear that your total is too low,” Dorothy said, “perhaps by as much as twenty million pounds. The market for the choicest items has never been better. Oh how I wish that Dame Elspeth had bequeathed the collection to the museum.”

“I repeatedly urged her to do so,” Iona said. “Talk to your solicitor, I begged. Talk to your financial advisor, I pleaded. But she seemed—
reluctant,
I suppose is the right word. One can never fully comprehend another person’s motives.”

“I don’t think Dame Elspeth truly accepted the notion that the antiquities belonged to her,” Vicar de Rudd said. “Perhaps a year ago she talked to me about wanting to revise the small signs on the exhibits throughout the museum. As I recall, she felt that the phrase “From the collection of Dame Elspeth Hawker” should be changed to “Owned Anonymously.”

“What pray tell does that signify?” Archibald said.

“I assumed that Dame Elspeth was speaking from humility. Her tone suggested that she did not feel worthy to possess such riches.”

“Moving right along,” Nigel said, “the signs on our exhibits are the least of our worries. We have to face the fact that the majority of antiquities currently on display in the museum will likely vanish during the coming six months.”

He paused for a barrage of sighs, groans, and growls from the trustees—plus another “Bother!” from Iona.

“I believe that we have three options available to us,” Nigel went on. “Option one is to accept the inevitable. We bite the bullet and change the mission of the museum, perhaps becoming an academic institution that is primarily research oriented.”

“No!” Dr. Clowes smacked the table with his palm. “That is not what Mary Hawker Evans had in mind forty-odd years ago. This museum was built to be a proper
museum.”

“Well spoken, Sir Simon,” Marjorie said. “Also remember that in our role as a proper museum, we have developed into a leading tourist destination in Tunbridge Wells. If we give up our collection—if we tinker with our mission—we will destroy the soul of this institution.”

“Exactly!” Dorothy said. “Somehow we must prevent our antiquities from being dispersed around the world. The collection on display in this building is a national treasure.”

Archibald glanced at Flick. “Does our chief curator have anything to add?”

Flick replied softly, “Quite simply, I would consider it a failure of our leadership and a colossal tragedy if we did nothing to stop the loss of the antiquities on display.”

“Here! Here!” Iona said.

“Yes indeed!” the reverend agreed.

Archibald turned toward Nigel. “The consensus of the trustees is that option one is not an option. We will not go gentle into that good night.”

Nigel surveyed the table and saw a unanimous volley of nods.

He cleared his throat and began again. “Option two would be to engage in a delaying action. We don’t have to return the antiquities until ninety days—three full months—after a demand is made by the court-appointed executors of Elspeth’s estate. If we refuse to cooperate with the appraisers sent to value the collection, we can probably delay the grant of representation by the Probate Registry by three months more. Those six months might be enough time to raise sufficient funds to purchase a reasonable number of antiquities—say 20 percent of the collection.

“On the upside, we will emerge with a sufficient number of major antiquities to remain a museum that welcomes the general public. The downside, alas, is that we will alienate the Hawker heirs and may incite them to take legal action against us.”

“How can we function with only 20 percent of our exhibits?” Marjorie asked.

“I’ve given that some thought,” Nigel said. “We will try to fill our empty galleries with traveling exhibits borrowed from universities and other museums.”

“This is a tea museum,” Iona said. “Where can we find a sufficient number of suitable exhibits?”

Nigel could feel the awkward smile on his face. “I said ‘try to fill,’ Iona. It won’t be easy.”

Steady on! You sound like a dunce.

Nigel hated to make silly-sounding statements at trustee meetings. Everything he said, everything everyone said, flowed into four small microphones strategically placed on the conference table. The microphones sent their signals to a voice-operated tape recorder in Polly Reid’s office. It had been Nigel’s idea to record trustee meetings and then have Polly produce a written transcript. “A complete transcript is more useful than meeting minutes,” Nigel had said to her, “and there’s no need for you to waste time sitting through our tedious meetings.”

Flick unexpectedly saved the day. “We’ll need to be creative about borrowed exhibits. For example, the Victoria and Albert Museum in London owns a collection of antique teddy bears that they lend out on a regular basis. I can envision a Teddy Bears’ Tea Party exhibit aimed at children, designed to teach them about tea.”

Once again, Archibald took charge: “Option two certainly is not as bad as option one, Nigel, but it is not wholly desirable, either.”

Nigel looked around the table. The nods and expressions signaled that the other trustees agreed with the chair. Nigel gave Flick a thank-you wink.

Good. Now they are primed to hear the real plan.

He took a deep breath. “Option three was actually proposed by the Hawkers’ solicitor. Mr. Bleasdale believes he can put together a so-called ‘creative financing’ package—structured around a ten-year chattel mortgage—that will enable us to acquire the entire Hawker collection in one fell swoop.” Nigel described the details, then concluded: “The downside to this option is that the museum will be encumbered by a large loan for the next decade. We will have to do almost continuous fund-raising and development work. However, we will be able to sell off some of the less desirable assets in the collection to reduce our outstanding debt. This is precisely what companies do after they borrow money to acquire other businesses.”

“I like it!” Matthew Eaton said. “The museum should have acquired the collection decades ago.”

“Without doubt!” Marjorie Halifax said. “And as for the ten-year loan—well, most people I know have twenty-five year mortgages to pay for their houses.”

Nigel took another deep breath. “I must report, however, that one comment made by Mr. Bleasdale has me concerned. His suggestion that we find a ‘levelheaded antiquities appraiser’ set off alarm bells in my mind. We certainly don’t want any part of a scheme to defraud the Inland Revenue.”

“Balderdash!” Iona Saxby said. “Not that Bleasdale is likely to do a fiddle with the valuations, but if he should, it is his problem—and the estate’s. The museum will not be at risk.”