"But how will we know it's you?" I ask, gently mocking. With a cheeky grin, Mathilde unbuttons her jacket to reveal one of her classic snarky t-shirts hidden underneath it. I snicker. "Ahh, there's the Mathilde we know and love."
Edward rolls his eyes at our antics and then adds his own compliment to the mix.
"What's our plan for the day, Nat? Do you have a copy of the shoot schedule?" Kate asks.
"Oh, yes!" Harry adds. "What time will Caleb Farrow arrive, do you think?"
Kate, Mathilde and I exchange amused grins. "I looked it over last night. Most of the day is blocked out for set-up. As you can see, they've got quite a lot of lighting, cables and camera mounts to put in place before they can begin." I wave a hand at the piles of metallic rods lying scattered about, waiting to be assembled. "But theoretically, the actors could turn up today. I guess it depends on whether they want to look around before the filming begins tomorrow."
That's all the confirmation Harry needs. She quickly lays claim to one of the wooden benches. She refreshes her lipstick and smooths her dress, shifting until she is certain she is displaying herself to the best of her abilities. H curls up beside her for a quick catnap under the warm sun.
Mathilde and Kate look around, their excitement palpable. They may not be as star-crazy as Harry, but being on set of a big budget production is still an unusual way to spend their day. From my visits with Uncle Harold in the past, I know better. I try to warn them when I ask Edward to pick up coffees at the garden cafe. "Standing around on set will quickly get boring. Trust me, you'll soon want the extra shot of caffeine."
When Edward heads off, Kate asks the question on her mind. "Have you seen any of the scripts, Nat?"
I shake my head no. "I've only seen the shot locations and the cast list."
"Since the show is already airing, Bartie and I binged through the first few episodes over the weekend," Kate confesses. "They all take place in London, in the months after the Great Fire. Neither of us could guess what would bring the storyline to Oxford."
I give her a bright smile. "That much I do know. The Oxford scenes will be a flashback, to help the viewers learn more about Wren's background. A history lesson, of sorts, but with a love scene thrown into the mix."
By the time Edward returns, juggling trays of steaming cups, the lawn is a hive of activity. Uncle Harold arrives and comes straight over to say hello. He is pleased to meet Kate and Mathilde, making sure to thank them for their help with researching and staging the set.
"And you must be Harry," Uncle Harold exclaims warmly when she rejoins the group. "I've heard we have you to thank for the speed with which our filming permits were granted."
Harry tries to brush off the compliment, but I refuse to let her. "Harry knows the university administration inside and out… There is one thing you could do to thank her…" I let my voice trail off, hoping my uncle will take the bait.
"Of course! What is it?" he asks.
"Can you make sure she gets a chance to meet Caleb Farrow before filming wraps up?"
My uncle lets loose a chuckle. "Done! However, I should warn you. He can be a bit…" he pauses, hunting for the right description. "Er, changeable. But we'll do our best to make the arrangements."
"Oh, thank you," Harry gushes, and she gives my uncle Harold an impromptu hug.
When he extricates himself, he asks whether our group would be interested in a behind-the-scenes tour of the crew trailers. He doesn't need to ask twice. Even Edward agrees to go along. He is less interested in seeing how they bring the 17th century to life in costumes and hairstyles, instead expressing enthusiasm about seeing the editing and sound equipment.
Harold calls one of the assistants over and asks him to escort the group around. I choose to stay behind, more interested in catching up with my uncle. I'll be on set for the entire time the crew is here, so there is no urgency for me to see everything this morning.
When the others walk off, I pepper him with questions. "Where are you staying, Uncle Harold. And Dominic? Did he come up with you? How soon can I see him?"
Uncle Harold and Dominic have been a couple for as long as I can remember. Harold is similar to my dad in looks, the family resemblance being strong on that side of the family. He has the same fair skin and emerald green eyes, but unlike my dad, his blonde hair is usually an overgrown dishevelled mess. Dominic, on the other hand, is a Spanish beefcake with a handlebar moustache and a bald head. How the two of them met, I don't know. But they somehow work perfectly together.
"Whoa, slow down there," he says, laughing. "Yes, Dominic came up with me. He doesn't normally follow me around to my filming locations, but I found a particularly interesting AirBnB to rent and he couldn't resist."
"I'm intrigued," I reply with a sly grin. "Tell me more."
"Dominic will tell you that I'm living out a childhood fantasy, and he might be right. Whenever I'd come to visit your grandparents and dad as a child, we'd go for a walk along the Thames canal. I was fascinated by the little houseboats moored to the path…"
I interrupt him. "You rented a canalboat? That's so cool! I want to come over and see it!"
Uncle Harold chuckles. "That was exactly how Dominic responded. No wonder you two get along so well. It's not too far from The Perch pub. Do you know where that is?"
"I know exactly where that is!" I exclaim. "As you know, I've inherited grandfather's old house. It's a short walk across Port Meadow from where your canal boat must be."
"Text Dominic and sort out a date," Harold instructs me. A young woman waves in our direction, calling Harold's name. He gives her a nod of acknowledgment and then turns in my direction. "Oh dear, that's Joyce, looking for me. I'm sorry to dash off on you, but I'd better go see what she needs."
I pass the rest of the morning, alternating between walking a circuit of the garden to ensure all is well, and sitting on a wooden bench, replying to my emails. Around noon, H tracks me down, circling above my head before swooping to land on the bench.
"Oi, missie, wot's a wyvern got ta do ta get lunch 'ere?" He groans and rubs his round, scaly belly, emphasising how close he is to wasting away. I barely manage to hold back a laugh.
"What happened to the others?" I ask as I rise to my feet.
"They said ta tell ya goodbye. When they figured out none of tha actors were planning ta show up, they all decided ta go back ta work. Since they finished their tour near tha exit, they 'eaded straight out."
"In that case, H, I've got an extra special tour, just for you."
"Where's that?" he asks, his eyes wide with curiosity.
"Craft services."
Chapter Two
Now that H spends most of the evenings in his house in the garden, when we do see each other, we have a lot more to catch up on during our walks to work. For example, this morning I have a pressing question.
"H, what was that awful caterwauling in the garden last night?"
H flinches, causing him to tumble sideways in mid-flight. "Eh, ya 'eard that, did ya? Sorry iffen we woke ya up."
I rush to reassure him. "It's okay, I wasn't asleep yet. I was determined to get the last of the kitchen items put away."
"I thought somethin' was different about tha kitchen this morning," he mumbles, avoiding my question.
"The screeching howls, H? Are they going to be a nightly performance?"
"I sure 'ope not," he grumbles, snorting a dissatisfied plume of black smoke from his nostrils. "It's them neighbourhood cats. It's not my fault all tha babes like my new digs. But none of tha Toms want to 'ear what I'm sayin'. They think I'm trying ta lay claim to their territory."
I start to laugh but catch myself when I see how miserable H looks. "Oh mate, don't let it get to you. They might think you're a cat, but you know the truth. Crisp their tails or something."
H stares at me, surprised I'm advocating violence.
"Don't set them on fire, H," I clarify. "But a singe or two wouldn't be so bad. It would give them something to consider the next
time they think about bringing their cat chorus to sit below my bedroom window."
I leave H to ponder his revenge, turning my attention to the people walking through the centre. The shopping district offers ample people-watching opportunities on a normal day, but the summer season takes it to a whole new level. Despite the early hour, the streets are crowded with tourists, their bulky cameras and guidebooks immediately giving them away. Locals on their way to work dance from one side of the pavement to another, dodging the families looking at maps and the oblivious teens posing for selfies.
If I thought the summer would provide a break from the ever-present student population, I was wrong. Within a week of term ending, the Oxford students were replaced by hordes of teens from around the world. The colleges convert into language schools and summer programmes, promising teenagers a chance to experience university life. They sprawl across every flat surface — benches, bus stops, traffic bollards and even a row of bins — chatting away, flipping their hair, and posturing for attention.
A flash of light draws my attention, a ray of sun glinting off a bald head. My mind immediately leaps to my uncle's partner Dominic, and I speed up in an effort to catch him.
Further ahead, the crowd parts, giving me a head-to-toe view of the bald man. Definitely not Dominic unless he has traded in his tight Spanish trousers for a costume. I tap H's snout to get his attention. "Is that bloke wearing a black medieval robe?"
"Eh?" he asks, his gaze darting around, trying to figure out to whom I am referring. I point my finger in the right direction, aiming to help. "Ya, looks like somethin' an old monk would 'ave worn. Weird."
The bald man turns onto a side street, giving me a quick glance at his profile. "I don't think that's a monk's robe, H. It looks more like one of the hulking executioner characters we saw at the Torture Museum in London."
The words are barely out of my mouth before H and I both stop dead, barely avoiding getting bumped from behind. H shoots out a jet of flames, clearing a space for us to stand without getting jostled.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I ask, my voice trembling with excitement.
H doesn't reply, instead flapping furiously towards the side street where the man disappeared. "Come on, Nat. We need ta 'urry up and follow 'im!"
H's wild flight turns out to be surprisingly effective at creating a path through the crowd. Their brains might be telling them that H is a cat, but some part of their minds senses he is something more. People scatter left and right, leaving space for me to slide between.
As a result, the bald man in the medieval robe doesn't get very far. As soon as we enter the side street, H spots him up ahead. By unspoken agreement, we slow our pace, not wanting to spook the man before we can figure out what he is doing.
H perches on my shoulder, tucking his head close to mine so we can safely whisper.
"What would a Torture Museum Eternal from London be doing in the centre of Oxford?" I whisper.
"Getting tha lay of tha land?" H replies, squinting his eyes as he stares ahead. "Are we sure that 'e's an Eternal? Maybe 'e is just some bloke in a costume. This is Oxford."
We're both so engrossed in watching the man, neither of us notices the pallet of boxes sitting on the pavement. I tumble over it, sending H flying off my shoulder. My screech slips out before I can stop myself.
There is one upside to me making a scene in the middle of the street. The bald man glances back to see what is causing the ruckus. His eyes land first on me and then on H, growing wide in shock. His expression shifts from surprise to recognition and then to frustration. He spins around and darts into the nearest doorway, which just happens to be the entrance to the Covered Market.
"He's definitely an Eternal, H," I cry. "He walked right through that crowd of people."
Dating back to the 1770s, Oxford's Covered Market is a favourite tourist attraction. Small shopfronts, fresh fruit and vegetable vendors, cheesemongers, butchers and bakers offer their wares along the narrow aisles, enticing visitors to stop and look around. Wooden beams painted a bright white crisscross the ceiling. As a nod to Oxford's literary history, characters from Alice in Wonderland decorate the open spaces.
I sprint forward, shouting at people to move out of the way. If he gets too far ahead, we'll lose him inside the narrow aisles. I dash inside, H hot on my heels.
Normally, I'm happy to spend a morning here window shopping or sitting down with a cup of steaming espresso. But today, the crowd of tourists and colourful shop windows aren't doing me any favours. I dodge right, avoiding a display of bright red apples sitting in front of the fruit and veg stand. I pick up speed when I pass through a crossway, but nearly lose H at the butcher stand. He swipes a talon across a string of sausages, making off with a few. Lucky for him, I'm breathing too hard to chastise him.
I execute a stunning leap, clearing a wooden box planter, and race the last few steps until I emerge on the far side. Windmilling my arms, I barely manage to stop before I step off the kerb in front of a passing bus. H arrives in time to grab the strap of my handbag, sacrificing one of his sausages in order to save me.
A nearby lamppost draws my attention. I rest against its rectangular base, half-draped over as I catch my breath. H doesn't look much better, with small jets of flame shooting out of his mouth in time with his pants. With no sign of our wayward Eternal, an important fact crosses my mind. I was chasing a ghost. Most likely, he simply blinked himself out of the Covered Market.
Frustrated and annoyed, I rub my heels, quipping to H, "If I'd known we were going to run to work, I'd have chosen more appropriate footwear."
As it is, I'll be lucky to get away with only a blister or two. My blood pressure inches downward, as I recover from my frenetic dash, only to skyrocket again when I remember where H and I were headed before we were distracted.
"H, the film set! We'd better hurry over there and make sure the Eternal hasn't made it his next target!"
The crowded pavement and busy street send us scurrying across to another alley, this one leading to a side entrance to the Christ Church meadow. Its paths are still relatively clear, so we make good time as we follow the short cut to the side street which leads to the Botanic Garden.
I slow my pace to something closer to normal, not wanting to alarm the security guards standing at the garden gate. After all, it isn't as though they can see any Eternals. The hulking bald man we chased could waltz right past them without anyone having a clue. If I come running towards them, they are more likely to see me as the threat.
The guards are alert, but also somewhat bored with their duty at the gate. I decide that is a good sign. If anything were remiss, surely they'd look more obviously vigilant and attuned to their surroundings. Nonetheless, I send H to survey the grounds while I stop to show my badge.
"Morning," I wheeze, still slightly out of breath. "Lovely day, isn't it? All good inside?"
The guard raises an eyebrow but chooses not to comment on my dishevelled state. I suppose I could just as easily be rushing back from an errand for one of the actors. That seems more logical than chasing an invisible bad guy.
"Everything is fine, Ms Payne," he reassures me. "Your uncle wants you to look for him when you get inside. Something about introducing you to his production assistant." He nods at the other guard, who steps aside and opens the gate, allowing me to slide past.
Between the garden wall, the shade trees and the row of trailers, my view is limited to no more than a few metres in front of me. I glance back to make sure the guards aren't watching me before I speed walk along the path, my elbows tucked against my side as I rush along.
A loud flapping noise alerts me to H's imminent arrival. "No sign of 'im, Nat!" he shouts.
Before H can glide down from the sky, a booming crash and high-pitched shriek rip through the air, coming from within the gardens, and sending a flock of birds scattering from the treetops.
I abandon all pretence, shifting into a flat-out sprint in the direction of the commotion.
❖
H somersaults in mid-air and skyrockets above the tree line. He quickly spots the scene of the trouble and calls down to me to turn towards the events lawn.
When I left the garden yesterday evening, it was well on its way to turning into a proper film set. Trailers of various shapes and sizes lined three sides of the grassy lawn, offering temporary housing for the film crew. This morning, the transformation is complete. Cables snakes across the ground, connecting lights and camera rigs with their power sources.
I spot a cluster of people standing near the trailers, concerned looks on their faces. I motion for H to get closer while I stop to chat with the nearest person, a lanky man wearing an apron, standing near the Craft Services trailer.
"I heard the noise as I was coming into the garden. What happened? Is everyone okay?"
The man looks at me, arching an eyebrow in my direction, clearly wondering who I am. I stick out my hand and add, "I'm Nat, Harold's niece… and Head of Ceremonies at the uni. I'm a consultant on the production."
The man's expression relaxes as he gives a firm shake. "I'm Sam, nice to meet you. And yes, it looks like everyone is okay, although that was a close one."
I rise on my tiptoes, but there are too many people grouped around the scene for me to see what happened. Sam notices my difficulties and offers more information. "I saw it all from the serving window in the trailer. See that giant lighting rig over there?" He points towards a silvery metal ladder with lights and a pale grey filter set on top. "There are supposed to be two of them. The other one fell over and nearly took out Vivian Edgemont and one of the production assistants."
I suck in a breath. "Vivian… as in the lead actress?"
Sabotage at Somerset: A charmingly fun paranormal cozy mystery (Oxford Key Mysteries Book 4) Page 2
