The coffee, together with a plate of eggs and toast, works wonders on my disposition. Feeling somewhat more human, I call H to meet me out front so we can go to Somerset College. Located near the Bodleian Library, it's a short fifteen-minute walk from our new home. The day is bright, the sun reflecting off the puddles left by an early morning rain burst. The air smells fresh and clear, the temperature slowly beginning to warm up into the low 20s. In England, it doesn't get much better than this.
We pass Barnard College with its ivy-covered walls, stopping to spare a moment to window shop at Blackwell's Bookshop. The Weston Library is festooned with vinyl banners advertising a new exhibition on the journey to the moon. Around the corner, we finally spy the main entrance to Somerset College.
A low stone ledge separates the pavement from a grassy lawn. H and I dodge around a pair of giggling little girls, their pigtails bobbing as they walk atop the ledge, pretending it is a tightrope. H uses his tail to give the smaller one a gentle push when she seems in danger of tumbling off.
Standing before the looming stone facade, I slow my steps, needing a moment to take it all in. Somerset is set back from the street by the grassy lawn. I've walked past dozens of times without ever stopping to take in the magnificence of it all.
The stately building — its perfect symmetry unbowed by four hundred years of wind, rain, and snow — stands proudly, ready to welcome visitors inside. Typical of the older Oxford colleges, the enormous arched doorway lies dead centre, its heavy wooden doors kept closed. It isn't hard to imagine the doors thrown open wide with a king and his train of royals riding regally through the gate. Instead, a small panel is propped open, barely large enough to allow entry without having to duck. It offers tempting glimpses of the gardens hidden behind the impressive facade.
This very building dates back to the beginning of the 1600s. Wilkins, Wren and the other powerful men of their age walked along this same pathway, when they entered this very building. I wonder whether they imagined it would still be standing tall, serving the same high purpose, all these years later.
A rush of heat on the back of my legs brings my imagination to a screeching halt. H, who has run out of patience, swats my calf with his tail.
"Come on, Nat. I'm starvin'. Do ya think they've got the Craft Services trailer here yet?"
My university badge gets me past the college security desk, and later, past the production guards standing watch over the building stairwell. Donald is kind enough to point me in the direction of the room where the crew is setting up for the day's scenes.
Most of the filming will take place in the main building and its centre courtyard. I glance out a window, hoping to catch sight of a member of the crew, but there is no sign of the production team anywhere. I start to worry but then recall that they are setting up the trailers in the rear gardens, hidden away from both spying eyes and the camera lens. The arched stone entryway on the far side of the courtyard is likely to be a high traffic area over the next ten days.
Somerset's main building is remarkably similar to Barnard, which shouldn't come as a surprise. After all, the two colleges harken from a similar timeframe, and likely took architectural inspiration from one another. Not that they'd ever admit it.
Discreet signs on the walls offer directions to the hall, where filming is set to commence later this morning. Ducking inside, I spot a familiar dark head of hair and lithe form standing near the doorway.
"Francie! Is that you?"
The young woman spins around, gracing me with a bright smile. You'd never know that less than three months ago she stood accused of murder and spent two weeks in jail. As Kate's assistant at the Ashmolean, Francie found herself falling under suspicion for the arson in the museum archives and the death of the security guard. Thanks to Kate's determination and our investigative skills, we were able to prove she wasn't to blame. For a while we worried she might not recover from the trauma, but seeing her now sets any of my remaining concerns to rest.
"Hi, Nat! Isn't this exciting! A film shoot!" she gushes. "Kate sent me over to check all of the artwork and to make sure the antique equipment we're loaning is properly displayed."
I cast my eye around the room, hoping to see some of the priceless antiques, but the room looks remarkably similar to the last time I visited. Admittedly, the hall needs little help to turn from dining space to film set. With its wooden tables and high-backed chairs, it seems frozen in time.
Francie notices my survey and explains, "We've swapped out a few of the portraits in here but otherwise left everything as it is."
"Ah, that explains why I couldn't spot any differences! So where have you put the treasure trove of artefacts?"
Francie leads me to a nearby window, pointing to a doorway leading off from the courtyard. "The production crew has staged one of the college meeting rooms to act as John Wilkins' 17th century office and laboratory. Most of the items are down there. With only one doorway and small windows, we thought it would be the safest place to store everything."
I nod sagely, impressed by Kate and Francie's thoughtfulness. It is one thing to dangle the notion of priceless items to Hobbes and Beadle. It is another to make them easily accessible.
The sound of voices in the hallway halts any further conversation. I turn around and am surprised to see my assistants, Will and Jill, make their way in the door.
"Morning, Nat," Will calls.
"Hey, Francie," Jill adds.
"Hiya, Will and Jill," I say, crossing the room to greet them properly. "What are you two doing here this morning?"
The pair exchange confused glances before Jill replies, "We have a meeting this morning. To discuss the party next week?" When I still look perplexed, Jill follows up. "For the cast and crew… Remember? We're supposed to organise it."
Her words kick my brain into overdrive. With everything else going on, I somehow let the wrap party completely slip my mind. How in the world am I going to explain that I forgot about the big event?
Jill must sense something of my distress because she reaches out a hand and pats my arm. "You forgot, didn't you? I'm not surprised. You've been running nonstop over the past month and a half, prepping for the filming and remodelling your house."
Will stifles a laugh before admitting, "Honestly, it is nice to see proof now and again that you're just as human as the rest of us!"
At a loss for words, I shake my head, still unable to believe I could make such a mistake. With perfect timing, Joyce sticks her head inside the door, waving at us. "Ready for our meeting about the wrap party? I reserved one of the small conference rooms for our use."
Will and Jill are still chuckling as we follow Joyce into the hallway. I notice that H chooses to stay behind, his nose in the air as he heads towards the small doorway into the kitchen. Although classes aren't in session, there are still students living in the dorms who need to use the dining hall for its intended purpose. Their hours of access will be limited, but with any luck, H will be in time to sweep up any remainders from breakfast.
The nearby conference room is indeed small and very modern. With clean white walls, an oval table, and a large display, it looks more suited to an office building. We take care of introductions as we get seated. After a minute of shuffling papers and notebooks out of our bags, we're all ready to get down to business.
Joyce starts us off with an overview of the number of attendees and a little about each group. Pen in hand, I begin sketching notes on my paper. Try as I might to keep my mind focused on the task at hand, every time Joyce switches over to a new department within the production crew, I find my mind wandering off. Could there be a bad egg in that group? Is someone in that team more likely to hold a grudge against Harold or the production overall?
Each time I realise my mind has wandered, I wrench it back to the present. But it is no use. There are simply too many other pressing problems clamouring for my attention. As much as I love a good party, stopping Beadle and Hobbes and helping my uncle are higher priorities
.
My subconscious must be hard at work because my mind clears right as my vision lands on Will and Jill. Unlike me, the two are busy taking copious notes, interrupting Joyce with questions as she goes along. I settle back in my chair, watching as the pair expertly guide Joyce through the pre-planning process — gathering information on food preferences, event hours, budget and any other constraints.
Finally, my assistants grow quiet, seemingly satisfied that they have all the background they need to begin work on an event plan. We thank Joyce for her time and put a follow-up meeting in all our diaries before she dashes off to her next task for the day.
With Joyce gone, I clear my throat to capture Will and Jill's attention. "What would you two think about taking the lead on organising this event? As you can see, between helping the production team and managing the remodel, I am overwhelmed. This event would be a fantastic opportunity for the two of you to show-off your capabilities."
"Really?" Jill asks, her voice full of hopeful excitement.
"Really!" I reply with a smile. "I'd love to grow our team and be able to take on more events at a time. It would be beneficial for the university and also give both of you the chance to progress in your careers. Now is as good a time as any for the two of you to demonstrate what you can do."
Their beaming grins are all the answer I need. With that task sorted, I wrap up the meeting so I can move on to my next assignment — tracking down Somerset's Eternals.
❖
I spy H circling over the courtyard and rap on the window to get his attention. I wiggle the latch, barely managing to get it open in time for him to fly inside.
"Spot anything out of the ordinary?" I ask as H lands at my feet.
"Nah, it's all quiet out thar, Nat. No signs of birdbrain or any of tha torture museum Eternals so far."
"Excellent. Let's see if we can find some of Somerset's Eternals and draft them into helping us keep an eye out. I imagine there must be dozens of them, given how old Somerset College is. Any suggestions on where we start?"
"Let's see…" H scratches his chin with a talon, deep in thought. "Thar's tha 'ead of Eternal Affairs fer Somerset, but 'e is kind of a stuffed shirt. All 'e cares about is tha college ranking in tha academic tables. Not likely ta be worried about a film crew, iffen ya know what I mean."
"We'll need to meet with him at some point," I note. "However, I can see your point. We need someone more like Harry, who knows everyone and doesn't let a thing slip past her."
H's eyes light up and an excited curl of smoke slips from his nostril. "I know just tha woman, Nat. Follow me."
H leads me through the college halls, back down the stairs, and across the courtyard. While he flies overhead, I move more slowly, carefully picking a path between the snaking lines of cables and piles of film equipment. He swoops low, crossing under the arched corridor which leads to the college gardens.
"Found 'er!" H shouts, waving his arms for me to speed up. I jog across the sprawling grass lawn, moving towards a line of perfectly trimmed hedges. It takes me a moment to find an opening between their leafy branches. On the far side, I emerge into a vegetable and herb garden, cultivated in neat rows.
A flutter of cloth behind a trellis of vines attracts my attention. I take care with my steps, not wanting to damage any of the plants growing in the dirt. When I reach the trellis, I find H chatting away with a stout woman in a light blue dress. At the sound of my approach, she spins in my direction.
Her simple cap and the sturdy cloth of her dress mark her as a member of the servant class. The lines on her face make her seem middle-aged, but I'd guess she is likely younger than she looks. Life in the 17th century took a higher toll on the working class than it does now. Her expression is one of welcome, her eyes twinkling with a hint of humour. She brushes her hands against her skirt, knocking off the dirt, before holding one out in greeting.
Her calloused grip speaks to years of hard work. "Hiya, Nat. I'm Molly, the Laundress. Your grandfather told me to keep an eye out for you."
She waits expectantly for me to reply, but I'm too dumbstruck to formulate a sentence. In sharp contrast with her clothing, demeanour and hairstyle, her accent is exactly the same as my own.
Molly gives a hearty laugh, her voice booming across the peaceful garden. "Expected me to sound like Shakespeare?"
I nod in amazement.
"I may be dead, but there's no reason I can't move with the times. Besides, keeping track of the comings and goings of our staff and students would be nigh impossible if I didn't understand the vernacular." She winks at me, and adds, "Plus, it drives our Head of Eternal Affairs absolutely batty."
Her last comment cracks me out of my frozen shell, literally, when I let loose a snicker. "Molly, I can already tell you and I are going to be great friends."
Pointing towards a nearby bench, Molly suggests we have a seat in the sunshine and get to know one another. Since her plan perfectly aligns with mine, I willingly comply, slipping my sunglasses on as we get comfortable.
"Before we get onto the topic of the college, would you mind telling me about yourself, Molly? I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit that I didn't ask H or my grandfather in advance for information on Somerset's Eternals."
H interjects before Molly can reply, explaining, "That's no accident, Nat. We Eternals 'ave an unspoken rule. We don't tell each other's stories."
"Really?" I arch my eyebrow and look to Molly. She smiles and nods, confirming H's statement. "Huh. I guess that makes sense. You have so few opportunities to tell them, it wouldn't be right to deny you the chance. So, Molly, over to you. How does the college laundress become an Eternal?"
"It's pretty simple. When you're the only woman living and working in a college, it tends to be a notable experience in your life."
"Wait, what?" I rock back against the bench. "Can you back up a step? The only woman?"
Molly shakes her head, almost as though she can't believe it either. "I heard you spent time with Lady Petronilla at Barnard College, so I assume you know well her role in the foundation of the college. Somerset's story isn't wildly different. The Duke of Somerset may have founded the institution, but it was his wife who ensured the college survived after his death. She set the rules and regulations, determining that no women should be allowed within the walls. The only exception she made was for a laundress."
"Heaven forbid a man should have to wash his own unmentionables," I quip, causing Molly to chuckle and H to snort in embarrassment.
"Exactly right, Nat, although that was far from my only task. Most of my time was spent trying to keep that philosophical club from burning down the building or poisoning us all."
"The Philosophical Club?" I sit up straight, feeling a surge of excitement.
H flaps his wings to get her attention. "Do ya mean John Wilkins and Sir Christopher Wren?"
"Yes, those two were at the centre of the group of grown men acting like schoolboys with their toys. They were always haring off, chasing after one barbaric notion after another. Wilkins' office was filled with gadgets and chemicals. Tidying up behind those men took a few years off my life, that's for sure."
"Molly, this is wonderful," I exclaim. She wrinkles her brow, unsure whether I'm poking fun at her. "No really, you are exactly the person I need by my side for the next ten days. Do you know why we're all here?"
"Something about a movie or television programme," she replies, waving off the notion. "I like an evening in front of the telly as much as the next person, but these period dramas are not my favourite. I spend most of the show shouting out all the things the productions get wrong." She leans over, murmuring, "It's the curse of living as an Eternal. You know how everything should be, but no one knows to ask you."
I leap to my feet, holding out a hand for her to join in. "Today is your lucky day, Molly. How would you like to be an unofficial consultant on a series about the life of Sir Christopher Wren?"
"Are you pulling my leg?" she asks, looking skeptical.
When she stands up, I ask her where she wants to start. "Costumes? Sets? Scripts?"
Molly waves off all my suggestions. "Let's start with the people. If they don't have the casting right, none of the rest will make a difference."
I send H off on a reconnaissance mission to track down the leading players. Molly takes advantage of the wait to finish up her pruning, looking pleased when I kneel to lend a hand. We make quick work of the remaining row and then store away the gardening tools in the nearby shed. By the time H returns, Molly and I are chatting away like old friends.
"Tha actor blokes are both in tha rear garden, sitting as far apart as possible." H pauses to explain to Molly, "No love lost between those two, ya'll soon see. I couldn't find Viv anywhere, though."
I shrug, unconcerned by her absence. "She's probably in the costume and make-up trailer getting dolled up for the day's shoot. We'll catch her later."
Once we're past the hedge, I spot Gideon Pomerance sitting nearby, a script in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. I point him out to Molly and explain his role. From our position, he can't see me unless he turns his head.
Molly circles around him, her eyes narrowed as she looks him in the face and moves around the check his profile. "Can you get him to say something, Nat?"
I nod and step forward into the garden. "Morning, Gideon. How are you? I can see you found your way here without too many troubles."
"Hullo, Nat," his voice booms as he flashes me one of his legendary smiles. His bright white teeth gleam in the sunlight. "The security team arranged for a car service. Ridiculous, really, given how close our lodging is, but they aren't taking any risks with us actors."
Sabotage at Somerset: A charmingly fun paranormal cozy mystery (Oxford Key Mysteries Book 4) Page 6
