Aunt Dimity and the Buried Treasure

by Nancy Atherton

  I detected Nigel Hanover’s love of drama in his great-granddaughter’s quaint phrasing and smiled inwardly.

  “After Badger left,” she went on, “Dimity returned to the Rose Café every day for several weeks. She hoped that he, too, would return, but he never did. She asked my great-grandfather if he knew where she could find Badger, but Badger’s whereabouts were as much a mystery to him as they were to her. After a time, she stopped coming to the café, but my great-grandfather never ceased to wonder why such a promising relationship had ended so catastrophically.”

  Sarah chose that crucial moment to pop an entire petit four into her mouth with unabashed gusto. I suspected her of employing a touch of theatrical timing to hold our attention, but Chocks seemed to think that she was torturing us unnecessarily.

  “Come along, Sarah,” he said peremptorily. “The story can’t end there.”

  “It doesn’t,” she said after a mighty swallow. “Many years later, shortly before Great-Granddad died, he bumped into Badger in Russell Square. Badger seemed to have no problem chatting about old times at the café, so Great-Granddad felt free to ask the question he longed to ask: Why had Badger walked away from Dimity?”

  “What did Badger say?” Fish asked when Sarah paused again.

  “He said he’d misread Dimity’s intentions,” Sarah answered. “He said she’d given him a gift, a silly gift, which he’d taken much too seriously.”

  The image of a badger flashed across my mind as I recalled the stuffed toy Aunt Dimity had purchased for Badger at a street market.

  “When he gave her a far more meaningful gift,” Sarah continued, “he realized his mistake. He understood all at once that, no matter what he did, Dimity would never love him, and he felt as if the sky had fallen in on him.”

  “Poor chap,” Chocks murmured.

  “After that,” said Sarah, “he couldn’t bear to see her, couldn’t bear to be near her, so he left the café and avoided it from then on.”

  “Understandable,” said Ginger. “No future in it.”

  “Then he laughed,” said Sarah.

  “He laughed?” I said, taken aback.

  “He laughed,” Sarah repeated firmly. “Badger told my great-grandfather that if Dimity hadn’t broken his heart, he wouldn’t have thrown himself into his work. However painful it had been at the time, her rejection had spurred him into becoming one of the foremost men in his field.”

  “What is his field?” I asked.

  “Before he and my great-grandfather parted,” said Sarah, “Badger introduced himself formally.” She twisted her hands in her lap and regarded us with a barely controlled quiver of excitement. “Badger’s real name is . . . Stephen Waterford.”

  The Battle of Britain boys and I were unmoved by the revelation, but it seemed to galvanize Adam.

  “The Stephen Waterford?” he asked, sitting bolt upright. “The Egyptologist?”

  “That’s right,” said Sarah. She looked at him delightedly, as if she were glad that one of us understood the name’s significance.

  “I’ve read all his books,” Adam marveled.

  “So have I.” Sarah’s ponytail danced as she bobbed her head enthusiastically. “He’s brilliant, isn’t he?”

  “Inspiring,” Adam agreed.

  The two locked eyes for a moment, then Sarah turned to me, looking a bit flustered.

  “Stephen Waterford also gave my great-grandfather his card,” she said. “When Carrie told me that you were searching for him, Lori, I went through Great-Granddad’s biscuit tin, and—”

  “His what?” Fish interrupted.

  “Great-Granddad used a biscuit tin to illustrate his stories,” Sarah explained. “It’s filled with all sorts of odds and ends that meant something to him—matchbooks, a handkerchief, a clothes peg, a Royal Automobile Club badge. I went through his biscuit tin, and I found Stephen Waterford’s card.”

  “The information on it must be out of date by now,” said Ginger.

  “It’s not,” said Sarah. “I rang Stephen yesterday—”

  “Did you call him by his Christian name?” Adam asked in awestruck tones.

  “He insisted on it,” Sarah replied, with a disbelieving giggle.

  “Yes, yes, we’re all very impressed,” Ginger said patiently, “but we’d also like to hear what this Stephen fellow said to you.”

  Sarah pulled herself together.

  “I told Stephen what Carrie had told me,” she said. “I told him that an American woman who lived in a small village not far from Oxford wished to deliver a deathbed message to him from a village woman he’d met at the Rose Café. I could tell that he was surprised, but he wasn’t put off. In fact, he’d very much like to meet you.” She pulled a folded piece of paper from her jacket pocket and handed it to me. “Here’s his address. He lives in Wilmington Square.”

  I looked to Adam for guidance.

  “It’s not ten minutes from here,” he said.

  “Ten of your minutes or ten of mine?” I asked wryly. “My minutes are slower than yours.”

  “Let’s say fifteen minutes, then,” he amended, grinning.

  “I’m afraid you won’t be able to visit him today,” Sarah said hastily. “He was admitted to hospital this morning for some tests.”

  Ginger snorted dismissively.

  “I never have tests, myself,” he said. “I don’t trust them.”

  “No more do I,” said Chocks.

  “Doctors,” Fish said scornfully. “I’d have been dead fifty years ago if I’d listened to doctors.”

  “Yes, well, Stephen does listen to doctors,” Sarah said. “He’ll be home on Sunday, Lori. He said he’d set aside the whole of Monday for you.”

  A scheme began to take shape in my crafty matchmaker’s mind. I waved at Adam to get his attention, then asked him if he would be free on Monday.

  “Free as a bird,” he said.

  “Adam’s my navigator,” I explained to Sarah. “He keeps me from getting lost when I’m in London. If you can spare the time, would you consider coming to Wilmington Square with us? I think Badger, er, Stephen, will be more comfortable if you’re there.”

  “I can spare the time,” said Sarah. “And not just because I admire Stephen’s work as an Egyptologist. I’d like to meet the man Great-Granddad knew, the man whose love story had such an unexpected ending.” She looked from me to Adam. “Shall we meet here on Monday at ten o’clock?”

  “Ten o’clock it is,” said Adam, sounding as if he’d never heard of a more perfect plan.

  “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go,” Sarah said, standing. “I work part time at the British Museum. My hours are flexible, but if I’ll be away on Monday, I should probably put in a few extra hours today.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” said Adam.

  The old gentlemen and I watched the pair thread their way through the tables and out into the half courtyard, where they stood, chatting animatedly.

  “Looks like the lad’s moving on today after all,” said Fish.

  “That one won’t give him any trouble,” said Chocks.

  “Good luck to them,” said Ginger.

  “I’d better be going, too,” I said. “Would you three mind if I stopped by to visit with you again?”

  “We’d be hurt if you didn’t,” said Ginger. “We’re counting on you to tell us what this Stephen chap is like.”

  “When the weather’s fine, you’ll find us here,” said Chocks.

  “We creak too much when the weather isn’t fine,” said Fish.

  “I’ll be back with the full story,” I promised. I glanced toward the line of customers at the front counter. “I’d like to say good-bye to Carrie, but it looks as though she has her hands full. Would you say good-bye to her for me and give her my thanks?”

  “Leave it with us,” said G
inger.

  “Carrie has it right, you know,” I said, as I shook hands with each of them. “You can protest all you want, but you’re heroes in my book. Thanks for helping me today, and thanks for doing your bit back then. The world’s a better place because of you, and I, for one, won’t let you forget it.”

  The Battle of Britain boys dismissed my comments vehemently, but when I turned to look at them on my way out of the coffeehouse, they didn’t seem in any way displeased.

  * * *

  I took a cab back to Paddington. It was safer than following Adam, whose dazed expression and absentminded remarks indicated that he was happily ensconced on Cloud Nine.

  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 Café.

  “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.

  Eighteen

  Saturday 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.