“How do you know it’s a woman’s ring?” Dick demanded. “Could be a man’s.”
“It’s a wedding ring,” Mr. Barlow informed us, getting to his feet. “A gold wedding band. There’s an inscription inside it.”
“Wonderful!” cried Elspeth, clasping her hands to her chest. “If it’s a name, perhaps we can restore the lost ring to its rightful owner.”
“If she wants it back,” said Opal.
“It may not be a she,” Dick insisted.
“Too big to be a woman’s ring,” said Mr. Barlow.
“I told you so,” said Dick, preening.
“Unless it belonged to a big woman,” Mr. Barlow added, taking some of the wind out of Dick’s sails. He squinted at the gold ring, then shook his head. “Can’t read the inscription. Looks foreign.” He held the ring out to me. “You have a go, Lori. You’re better at foreign languages than I am.”
I didn’t know what had given him that idea, but I took the ring from him and examined it closely.
“I think it’s Spanish,” I said, and attempted to read the words aloud. “Te amaré para—” I broke off and looked uneasily at Sally.
“Siempre.” Sally finished the sentence for me in a voice that could have frozen molten steel. “Te amaré para siempre.” She turned a gimlet eye on her wilting husband. “You can translate the inscription into English for us, can’t you, Henry?”
But Henry didn’t have to translate the inscription for us because we’d heard him translate it once before. Everyone in Finch knew that, having met and fallen in love in Mexico, Sally and Henry had decided to have their wedding rings engraved in Spanish. Henry had read the inscription aloud at their wedding ceremony, then repeated it in English as he’d slipped Sally’s ring onto her finger. It was a moment none of us would ever forget.
“‘I will love you forever,’” Sally said frostily. “Isn’t that what it means, Henry?”
“Yes, dear,” he croaked.
“Henry?” said Sally, tilting her head toward the ring I was holding. “Is that your wedding ring?”
Henry gulped.
“If it is,” Sally continued remorselessly, “then what’s that thing you’re wearing on your ring finger?”
“I can explain,” he said, hiding his left hand behind his back.
Sally folded her arms and said, “I sincerely hope you can.”
“Do you remember when you asked me to pick up a jar of macadamia nuts at the Emporium?” Henry asked as beads of sweat began to glisten on his forehead.
“Macadamia nuts?” Sally peered at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Henry, that was ten months ago, when I made the macadamia nut cake for my granddaughter’s birthday.”
“Yes, I know.” Henry held his hands up in a pacifying gesture, caught himself, and thrust his left hand behind his back again. “But here’s the thing: The ring was on my finger when I left the tearoom, but it wasn’t there when I came back from the Emporium. I looked everywhere for it, Sal, but I couldn’t find it, and I couldn’t ask if anyone else had found it because I couldn’t let anyone know I’d lost it. I knew how much it meant to you, Sal, so I went back to the jeweler and had another ring made in a smaller size so it wouldn’t slip off so easily.”
“Wait a minute,” said Sally. A distant look came into her eyes, as if a memory were clicking into place. “That would be about the time you cut your finger with the bread knife, wouldn’t it? The finger you covered up with the sticking plaster?”
“I couldn’t think of any other way to keep you from seeing my finger,” said Henry. “It took a week to get the new ring from the jeweler. I promise you, Sal, it was the worst week of my life.”
Sally didn’t appear to be sympathetic. Her nostrils flared as she took a deep breath and said through tightened lips, “You’ve worn a counterfeit wedding ring for the past ten months, Henry Cook?”
“It’s a very nice ring,” Henry said pleadingly. “It’s eighteen-karat gold, just like the first one. And it’s not as if our marriage is counterfeit, is it, Sal? It’s—it’s just a ring.”
The Handmaidens groaned, I winced, and Dick looked away, as if he couldn’t bear to watch a man dig his own grave.
“It’s just a ring?” Sally repeated in a voice shrill enough to shatter the tearoom’s windows. “It may be ‘just a ring’ to you, Henry Cook, but it’s ten months of barefaced lies to me!”
She wheeled around and made for the tearoom. Henry ran after her and managed to slip inside mere seconds before she slammed the door. A plump hand appeared in a window to flip the OPEN sign to CLOSED.
And all was silence.
“Um,” I said awkwardly. “What should I do with Henry’s ring?”
“I don’t think Sally’ll let you put it in the museum,” said Mr. Barlow, with a hearty guffaw.
“It’s no laughing matter,” Elspeth scolded. “Henry should have told Sally the truth instead of pulling the wool over her eyes with his little charade.”
“She would have hit the roof either way,” said Dick. “I don’t blame him for putting it off as long as he could.”
“You don’t blame a man for lying to his wife for nearly a year?” Opal said, looking outraged.
“Not if it keeps peace in the family,” Dick responded.
“But it’s a false peace,” Selena objected.
“Better than no peace at all,” said Dick.
Mr. Barlow quietly replaced the plug of grassy soil, tamped it into place, and picked up the metal detector.
“I’m packing it in for the day,” he said. “I can’t stand the noise.”
Dick and the Handmaidens stared at him as he walked home.
“Was he referring to us?” Opal asked indignantly.
“I don’t think he was talking about the metal detector,” said Elspeth.
“We were making a bit of a racket,” Dick acknowledged equitably. “Ah, well, it’s lunchtime. I’d best get back to the pub or Christine’ll think I’ve abandoned her. See you later, ladies. ’Bye, Bess.”
Sated by the morning’s entertainment, the Handmaidens made their farewells to Bess and turned automatically toward the tearoom. When the CLOSED sign brought them up short, they executed a neat about-face and headed for the pub instead. I was sure that they would continue the debate about marital deception over their shepherd’s pies and their fizzy lemonades, but I was also sure that Dick would change his tune in front of his wife.
I pushed the pram toward the Rover, then swung around when someone called my name. James Hobson waved to me from the pub’s doorstep, then strode purposefully in my direction. He looked disturbed and slightly bewildered as he came to a halt in front of me.
“Lori,” he said, “what on earth is going on?”
Fourteen
Since it looked as though my conversation with James might be a lengthy one, I pulled Bess into my arms yet again.
“What happened?” he said. “I was having a swift half at the pub when Dick Peacock and—”
“The ladies,” I put in, to save him the trouble of remembering the Handmaidens’ names.
“When Dick Peacock and the ladies,” he continued, with a grateful nod, “came storming in with some story about Mr. Barlow using my metal detector to unearth an appalling secret that would ruin a marriage and tear the village apart.”
“Yep,” I said. “That about sums it up.”
James blinked at me for a moment, then observed, “You don’t seem concerned.”
“I’m not concerned,” I said, “and you shouldn’t be, either. You’ll soon learn to take most of what our neighbors say with a truckload of salt.”
Bess said hello to James. He gave her a preoccupied glance, then did a double take.
“Is your daughter chewing on a shark?” he asked.
“She is,” I said. “It was a gift from Will and Rob.”<
br />
“Better than a shark chewing on your daughter, I suppose.” He smiled, but quickly became serious again. “Then there’s no truth to the story I heard in the pub?”
“There’s a kernel of truth,” I replied, “in the shape of a wedding ring. . . .”
I told him about Mr. Barlow’s unfortunate discovery, its impact on Sally and Henry Cook, and the argument it had spawned between Dick Peacock and the Handmaidens. When I finished, James looked more distressed than ever.
“The poor Cooks,” he said. “It must have been a painful revelation.”
“It’s a tempest in a teapot,” I assured him. “Sally and Henry will kiss and make up, and the great debate about whether husbands are allowed to lie to their wives under special circumstances will go on until the end of time—or until another hot topic comes along to replace it. Spats are pretty common in Finch. It’s a way of letting off steam.”
“Spats can lead to feuds, though,” James said. “I’ve seen it happen.” He glanced anxiously at the tearoom, then went on. “I was out detecting near my seaside village when I found a pocket watch. It had belonged to a local landowner who’d died the year before, and it had been a bone of contention in the family ever since, with one side accusing the other of hiding it before the will was read.”
“You proved that the pocket watch had been lost,” I said. “They must have been relieved to know that no one had hidden it.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” said James. “In fact, my discovery only made things worse. The family had just begun to settle down when I turned up. It was like throwing fuel on a fire. The watch reignited all the old resentments, and the feud became more heated than ever. The watch was awarded to eldest son, but he had to go to court to get it. I wanted to sink through the floor every time he consulted it, which he did, ostentatiously, whenever his cousins were around. As far as I know, the two sides of the family still aren’t speaking to each other.”
“You can’t blame yourself for their foolishness,” I said.
“I know,” said James, “but I should have told the story of the pocket watch during the demonstration on Wednesday. It should have been the first thing on my agenda. I should have warned the villagers to be careful when they dig up the past. Because it’s not always pretty.”
“The villagers can handle it,” I said. “Quarrels are soon mended in Finch. Sally will give Henry what-for for a while, but they won’t let a lost ring or a few little white lies come between them. Those two were made for each other. You’ll see.”
“Their dirty linen was washed in a very public manner,” said James. “It must have been humiliating for them.”
“We’ve all had our dirty linen washed, dried, and folded in public at one time or another in Finch,” I said. “It can’t be avoided in such a small village, but we’ve survived. If you ask me, Sally enjoyed her moment in the limelight. She’ll be out and about again before you know it.”
“I hope so,” James said earnestly, “because she’s the next person in my rota.”
“Your rota?” I said.
“As you predicted, I had quite a few knocks on my door after the demonstration,” said James. “Everyone who’d been there wanted to borrow my metal detector, so I made up a rota. Mr. Barlow was at the top of the list, of course.”
“And Sally is next?” I said.
“She was supposed to have her turn with the detector this afternoon,” said James, gazing worriedly at the tearoom, “but I’m not sure she’ll be up for it now.”
“Don’t give her place away too soon,” I cautioned. “Sally won’t like it if the next person in the rota gets the jump on her. If I were you, I’d carry on as if nothing had happened. I can just about guarantee that Sally will.”
“In that case,” said James, “I’d best collect the detector from Mr. Barlow. I hear he found some interesting nails.”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to show them to you,” I said. “And I’m afraid I have to be going. Bess needs her lunch.”
“Sorry, Bess,” he said, patting her arm. “I didn’t mean to hold you up. Thanks for clarifying the situation for me, Lori. Enjoy your lunch, Bess. I hope you haven’t spoiled your appetite with that shark.”
James took off for Mr. Barlow’s house, Bess went back into the pram, and I wheeled her into Wysteria Lodge, the lovely old building that served as Bill’s place of work. I hadn’t counted on having a picnic lunch with my husband, but I always packed extra provisions for Bess in the diaper bag, and Bill and I could improvise.
Bill was delighted to see us, not least because he was dying to know what had caused the ruckus on the village green. Although my husband pretended to avoid gossip, he never tired of hearing it from me. After running across to the pub to fetch an oversized ploughman’s lunch for us to share, he sat back and listened while I filled him in on Mr. Barlow’s sensational debut as a metal detectorist.
“Metal detecting is a hobby custom-made for Finch,” he said when he finished laughing. “It’s just another form of snooping.”
Bill and I dug into our cheddar cheese, smoked ham, pickled onions, green salad, and crusty bread, undeterred by the sight of Bess feeding herself mashed butternut squash and puréed chicken. When she was finished, I cleaned her and her immediate surroundings, handed her over to her father, and crossed to the window to survey the village green.
“I knew it!” I exclaimed. “Sally Cook and James Hobson are out there right now with his metal detector. I knew Sally wouldn’t give up her place in the rota.”
“I’ll bet James stuck around to deliver his pocket watch speech,” said Bill, “should the need arise.”
“You’re probably right,” I said, concentrating on Sally. “Oh, Bill, I think she’s found something!”
“Go,” he urged. “I’ll look after Bess.”
“Thanks,” I said, opening the door.
“And you can explain air pressure to the boys when they come home from school,” he added slyly.
“No problem,” I said. “If I know our sons, they’ll have forgotten all about it by then.”
I glanced to my left as I left Wysteria Lodge, saw that the tearoom’s CLOSED sign had been flipped to OPEN, and smiled. Sally was too canny a businesswoman to let private quarrels interfere with her bottom line.
I crossed the cobbled lane at a trot, then slowed to a walk as I approached Sally, who’d elected to scan a narrow section of green behind the war memorial. If she’d hoped to avoid drawing a crowd, she’d succeeded. James was the only one following her progress.
“Everything okay, Sally?” I asked when I was within earshot.
She favored me with a complacent smile.
“Everything’s fine,” she said. “Henry’s promised never to lie to me again.”
Knowing Sally as I did, I raised an eyebrow as I said, “And . . . ?”
“And he’s agreed to clean the kitchen in the tearoom for the next month,” she said smugly, “while I have a lie-down.” She bent once more to her task. “Have I found something, James?”
Whatever James’s intentions had been, Sally had evidently kept him around to do the dirty work. While he went through the usual routine with the digger and the pinpointer, Lilian Bunting emerged from the vicarage and strolled over to see what we were doing.
“It looks as though I’ve arrived at an exciting moment,” she said after we’d exchanged greetings.
“Let’s hope it’s not too exciting,” I murmured.
James pulled a small object out of the hole and sat back on his heels to examine it.
“What is it, James?” Sally asked.
“It’s a coin,” he replied.
“An old one?” she asked hopefully.
“It’s not particularly old,” said James, getting to his feet, “but it’s unexpected.” He passed the coin to Sally. “It’s an Italian coin. A 1951
one-lira piece.”
If he’d expected to astonish us, he must have been disappointed.
“Ah,” said Lilian, nodding.
“Piero,” said Sally.
“Must be,” I said.
“Who is Piero?” James asked.
“The late Piero Alessandro Sciaparelli was an Italian prisoner-of-war,” Lilian explained. “After the war he married a local girl and went on to sire one of the most powerful farming families in the county. There’s no way to prove it, of course, but it’s likely that Sally’s lira once belonged to Piero.”
“His family will want it,” said Sally, pocketing the one-lira coin. “I’ll make sure it gets to them.”
“You should record the time and date of your find,” I told her, “in case the Sciaparellis decide to donate Piero’s lira to our museum.”
Three pairs of uncomprehending eyes turned to stare at me.
“What museum?” Sally asked suspiciously.
“Not the kind with a tearoom,” I said quickly. “Just a glass case in the schoolhouse where Finch’s metal detectorists can display their finds. Elspeth, Opal, Millicent, and Selena came up with the idea.”
“It’s a splendid one,” said Lilian. “Perhaps Mrs. Sciaparelli would donate a photograph of her father-in-law to go along with the lira.”
“I’ll ask her,” said Sally. “But for now, I’d like to get on with my detecting.”
There was a new spring in James’s step as he ambled along beside Sally, as if he were relieved that her find had produced concord rather than discord.
Our foursome more than doubled in size when Mr. Barlow, Dick Peacock, and the Handmaidens, having finished their respective lunches, succumbed to the lure of the metal detector and joined us. Lilian paused to speak with the Handmaidens about the proposed museum while the men and I followed James and Sally, but the ladies scrambled to catch up with us when the device wailed again.
James dropped to his knees and went to work with the digger. He left the pinpointer in his utility belt, however, because he didn’t need it. He simply reached into the hole he’d created and pulled out a rusty hammer.
Aunt Dimity and the Buried Treasure Page 13
