We continue with meaningless chatter, Gideon none the wiser to Molly's assessment of his fit for his role. I nearly sigh in relief when she gives me the thumbs up, letting me know I can wrap up our conversation.
"Well?" I ask as we walk away, leaving Gideon to his script. "Does he make the cut?"
"His voice isn't exactly right," Molly mutters, looking back over her shoulder. "However, he has the same sense of self-assurance Wilkins had, and he sure is a handsome devil. I suppose he'll do."
Before I can reply, I hear a male voice calling my name.
"Lady Natalie, finest felicitations on this most glorious morn." Caleb Farrow, still very much embodying his role of Sir Christopher, bows in my direction.
I cast a quick glance at Molly, not wanting to miss her reaction. She rocks back half a step, her expression pinched as though she's stumbled upon something rotten. Now I see why Joyce said it is more fun not to warn set visitors about Farrow's predilection for method acting.
"Finest day to you as well, Sir Christopher," I reply, bobbing a curtsey. Molly's expression shifts from pinched to flat out horror. It's all I can do to keep a straight face. "And how is your lodging, Sir? Had you far to travel this morn?"
"I've taken lodging in Woodstock, a small village not far from here. It is a half day's walk on foot, but a short jaunt in the carriage." Farrow rolls his shoulders back, twisting slightly so the sun highlights his best features. This sends Molly's eyes rolling and nearly pushes me over the edge. I make quick work of my goodbye before spinning around and darting into the nearest open doorway. The empty hallway provides me space to loose my laughter.
"I've heard it said that actors are a different breed from us normal folk, but never in my existence have I seen anything as ridiculous as that," Molly declares, looking practically affronted.
I give her a smirk. "I take it Caleb Farrow isn't measuring up as well as Gideon did?"
"Not hardly," she snorts. "Wren was a fine fellow, humble, his mind nearly always occupied with solving one problem or another." Molly steps around H and motions towards the front door. "That buffoon is about as far from Wren as one can get. I'll see what I can do to help, but I think even an Eternal may find this challenge to be too big to overcome."
❖
The rest of the morning gets swallowed up in conversations with Molly and exploration of the new sets. While Molly might be skeptical of the casting choices, she has nothing but praise for Marcello and Ilaria.
"Now these are people who know their way around the history books!" she exclaims, holding her clasped hands against her chest. "It's as though not a day has passed since I took my last breath. The furniture, the books on the shelf, and this portrait! I'd swear it was the original."
"Err, that is the original," I point out. "Kate, the museum prefect, arranged to loan as many original items as she could find within Oxford's various museum archives. Wait until you see Wilkins' workroom — she found much of the original equipment in storage at the History of Science Museum."
Molly takes another long look around the room, silent as she soaks in the details. "Nat, I'm starting to have hope that this programme can be a success."
Mathilde shows up shortly before lunch, not wanting to miss an opportunity to taste the Craft Services cuisine which H has been waxing poetic about for the last few days.
Upon meeting Molly, she shows the same level of enthusiasm as I did, thrilled to get the chance to speak to someone who knew these near mythical individuals as walking, talking humans. Wilkins, Wren, and the other members of the Philosophical Club left incredible legacies behind that had made them all seem larger than life.
I have to tug Mathilde out of her chair when she settles in and launches straight into a litany of questions. "Trevor will be here shortly for the tour. You can come back and speak with Molly another day. If we don't hurry up and get lunch, we'll miss our window of opportunity."
H growls, threatening to set Mathilde's favourite denim jacket aflame. "Iffen ya think I'm missing out on lunch so ya can pester Mols with a load of questions, ya better use yer loaf and think again, missie."
Mathilde's better sense comes to the rescue, but only after Molly reassures her that she can pop in and visit anytime she wants. "I'm an Eternal, Mathilde! I'm not going anywhere."
The lunch buffet is a veritable smorgasbord of culinary delights. I cannot figure out how Sam and the other members of the Craft Services team can whip up so many delicious dishes within the confines of a trailer, but clearly they've found a way. I make a mental note to get their contact information before filming ends. You never know when I may need a crack team of chefs who can work their magic in a remote location.
We're sipping a post-lunch espresso with Ilaria and Marcello when Mathilde's mobile buzzes with an incoming text. She gives it a quick scan and announces, "Trevor is waiting at the front entrance. Take your time finishing up. I'll go get him and bring him back here."
She strides off without waiting for any acknowledgement or reply. As we watch her navigate her way towards the arched entry, Ilaria asks, "Is Trevor her boyfriend?"
"Not yet, but I'm beginning to wonder if they are headed in that direction," I reply.
Ilaria and Marcello make their excuses, leaving H and I behind to wait for Mathilde and Trevor's return. H is already looking decidedly bored, yawning as he rubs his full belly.
I give his snout a tap when it starts dipping towards the ground. "Mate, why don't you find a quiet spot where you can curl up in the sunshine and have a nap while we take Trevor around the sets?"
"What are ya talkin' about Nat? I'm fit as a fiddle!" H opens his snout to add more, but a yawn escapes instead.
I arch my eyebrow, giving him a stern look. "You've been flying reconnaissance missions over the Botanic Gardens for the last three days and you spent the morning tromping from one end of the college grounds to the other. There's no shame in needing a cat nap, H." When it appears he still plans to argue with me, I add, "If you're worried about the crow turning up, have a quick word with Molly and see if a few of Somerset's Eternals can take up the task of keeping watch."
H seems dubious but a third yawn renders any further arguments moot. He helps himself to a last chocolate biscuit before flying off to find Molly.
Left at loose ends, I return our dirty dishes to the Craft Services trailer, thanking them profusely for the spectacular lunch, and then head towards the main entrance. I bump into Mathilde and Trevor in the main courtyard.
"Sorry we took so long," Mathilde chirps. "Trevor's name wasn't on the approved visitor's list. I had to convince the security guard to radio your uncle for approval."
I propose we step into one of the empty conference rooms and agree a bit of plan before we start. Although this is meant to be a friendly visit, Trevor is taking the task of viewing the crew quite seriously. After a few minutes of discussion, we decide he might have more luck if he keeps a low profile. We'll skip the introductions, instead lingering near the back of the sets where we can all watch how the crew interact with one another.
"Have you heard any whispers on the set?" Trevor asks as we make our way to the hall, where filming is due to begin. "Any guesses or suspicions among the crew as to who might be responsible for the problems?"
I shake my head, frowning. "Not even a hint of a whisper. If I had to guess, I'd say that none of them want to believe it could be a crew member. For the most part, they've known each other for years. The film world is relatively small and definitely tight-knit."
Trevor's only response is to nod in understanding.
That settled, Trevor turns to Mathilde, his smile genuine. "You had offered to tell me about the history of the college and how it relates to the production. Are you still up for that?"
"Sure," Mathilde replies breezily, although I can tell she is thrilled he asked. I pause momentarily, letting the pair walk a few steps in front of me. While Mathilde is leading the tour and Trevor is watching the crew, I can keep an eye on the pair of th
em instead.
True to her word, Mathilde launches into her narrative, showcasing her innate ability at storytelling. As we wander through the building, Trevor hangs on Mathilde's every word. His fascination is honest, and the pair fall into a comfortable conversation, with Trevor interjecting questions along the way.
Before we go through the doors into the hall, Trevor holds out a hand to stop our progress. "Have there been any other problems since we met for dinner?"
Mathilde looks to me for a response.
"The daily scripts went missing while we were still at the Botanic Garden. However, since we've moved here to Somerset, there haven't been any further problems, at least not as far as I am aware. Although I couldn't say whether the calm is due to increased security, the new location, or because the perpetrator is waiting for a good opportunity."
The historic hall is an ideal location for shooting. Its ceiling is crisscrossed by dark stained beams which stand in stark contrast to the whitewashed walls. Sunlight shines through the imposing stained-glass windows that line both of the long walls. The far end of the room features an intricately carved stone window filled with dozens of panes of coloured glass in the shape of various coats of arms. I imagine Mathilde could identify most — if not all of them — but a crew member shouts for quiet before I get a chance to ask.
The long trestle tables set out for students have been pulled closer to the back of the room, leaving space near the front for the camera crew to set up their gear. Uncle Harold checks that everyone in ready, and then shouts, "Action!"
Gideon Pomerance, in his role as John Wilkins, sits at the head of the high table. I recognise Caleb Farrow sitting on his right, no doubt basking in the chance to fully embody Wren. Other actors, all dressed in a similar style, claim the remaining seats.
The men laugh and talk, arguing good-naturedly with one another as they break bread and pass around terrines of steaming soup. I get so caught up watching them embrace their roles, I forget to watch the expressions of the crew.
Half an hour of filming goes by without me realising until Mathilde taps my arm and motions towards the door when my uncle calls for a short break.
The corridor is busy with people rushing around, making phone calls, and rehydrating in between takes. Mathilde calls for us to follow, leading us up a flight of stairs to Somerset's old library. The room is empty except for a single staff member toiling away at the reception desk. Mathilde gives a quick hello and then continues to the raised seating area at the far end.
"That was so cool," Mathilde gushes as she settles into one of the leather sofas.
I rush to agree. "Seeing all of those thoroughly modern actors sink deeply into their roles really makes you appreciate their talent."
Trevor, however, seems less convinced. "I prefer the final version. All the cameramen and the headsets, the wires running around and behind everything, it took away some of the magic of the end result."
"Period films are almost magical," I agree. "I've always wished I could find a time machine and travel back, talk to the people who lived centuries ago and see what they are really like."
Trevor chuckles, "As a child, I would have paid all my savings for a chance to take a trip on a real pirate ship."
"And now that you are grown?" Mathilde asks, her expression brimming with curiosity.
"As one of the people responsible for ensuring the safety of our population, I can honestly say that I'm glad pirates and highwaymen have faded into obscurity." Trevor laughs at the thought, missing the nervous glance Mathilde casts my way. I give her a subtle nod of encouragement. If we're wanting to test the magical waters with Trevor, this is likely to be our best chance.
Mathilde looks left and right, making sure no one else has entered the room. Then she leans close and says, "Speaking of meeting historical figures, there are rumours that the ghost of John Wilkins haunts these very halls."
"A ghost?" Trevor asks drily.
"Yep," Mathilde replies, in a no-nonsense tone. "They say he appears when students are particularly struggling with a problem or concept. The students say it feels like someone is leaning over their shoulder and whispering in their ear. Shortly after the ghost makes an appearance, the student in question ends up finding a solution to their problem. It almost seems like… well… magic."
Although I know Mathilde's story is fictitious, she's edged as close as she can to the truth of Oxford's Eternals.
To our shared dismay, Trevor's response is to boom with laughter.
"That is an Oxford story if I've ever heard one," he notes, his brown eyes glittering with good humour. "A four-hundred-year-old genius ghost helping students with their homework? Only Oxford would dare to make such a claim."
Mathilde gives me a wry look before huffing in frustration. "You never know, Trevor Robinson. Wilkins could be standing behind you right now, listening to you laugh at the mere thought. You may have missed out on your big chance to solve a problem staring you right in the face."
Chapter Five
I expect Mathilde to depart when Trevor goes, but instead she asks me to wait while she escorts him out. When she returns, we head into the empty nearby Senior Common Room aiming to get a cup of tea. As our brews steep, Mathilde shuffles around as if she is nervous about something.
"What's up, Mathilde?" I ask. "You're making me dizzy, wandering around in circles like that."
Mathilde falls onto a nearby sofa, looking like the picture of defeat. "Oh Nat, I'm so disappointed in Trevor. I had hoped he might show some sort of hint, or even a tiny spark of an interest in the supernatural. But you heard him! He scoffed at the mere idea of it."
I don't reply straightaway, focusing my attention on stirring milk and sugar into our cups. I grab a pair of coasters and set the cups on the coffee table before taking a seat across from Mathilde.
I weigh my words but finally decide to speak bluntly. "I can't say I'm surprised. This is exactly why we didn't want to rush into revealing the secret of Oxford's magic to him. As a detective, he is trained to look for facts he can prove, not a supernatural explanation for life's mysteries."
Mathilde grabs a pillow and pulls it into her lap, hugging it against her chest. "I know, Nat. But when Trevor agreed to visit the set and we decided to suss out the possibility of telling him…"
"You got your hopes up?" I offer, finishing her sentence.
She nods, worrying away at her lower lip.
I take a sip of my tea, using the moment to really look at Mathilde. She's fiddling with a button on her jacket. Her shoulders are tight with stress. Seeing her like this casts me back in time to our first few days at Barnard College. This is more than concern about catching a criminal.
"You like Trevor."
My words hang in the air for a moment, long enough to make me think perhaps I've gotten it wrong.
Mathilde's breath catches, and she holds it for a second before releasing a heavy sigh. "He's well-read, intelligent, curious, polite and handsome…"
"All true," I agree. "But don't forget about the times we've butted heads with him. Our interactions with him haven't always been positive."
"Weirdly, our past clashes with him only add to his allure. I have no interest in a man who will kowtow to my every word. I know Trevor will take a stand for what he thinks is right, and yet, he isn't so arrogant that he can't admit when he's wrong. Think about how he handled Francie's arrest. He stood up to Kate when he thought Francie was guilty, but as soon as we showed him evidence to the contrary, he helped speed the process to release her."
"You don't have to convince me, Mathilde. I was playing devil's advocate. I may not know Trevor well, but Edward has known him for ages and always speaks highly of him. I trust both of your judgements."
I lean forward and pass Mathilde her tea from the table, coaxing her to let go of the pillow she is still clutching.
"Trevor is handsome, but maybe we're rushing into thoughts about relationships." I give her a gentle smile. "Neither of you are going a
nywhere, so why not postpone any romantic moves until after we catch Beadle and Hobbes? We should have this all wrapped up within a week or two."
"Trevor invited me out for dinner, and suggested we go to the Varsity Club on Monday night."
"I knew he liked you!" I exclaim, causing Mathilde to roll her eyes at me. "But that does put an end to my suggestion of delaying. You have to go, you know."
"Of course, I'm going!" Mathilde mutters. "But how do I handle it? What if I accidentally let slip something about Bartie or H or Molly…"
"The magic will smooth out any mistakes, so don't stress about it." I stop, wrinkling my nose. "Sorry, I know well how easy it is to say don't stress but how hard it is to actually do. I was a frantic mess when Edward asked me out. Remember the time he came to lunch in the library with all of us?"
Mathilde barks out a laugh. "Goodness, do I! Your grandfather dropped the bombshell about finding the origin of the magic seconds before Edward walked into the room, and then H flew in through the upper window. I thought you were going to faint at one point, from the stress of it all."
"I felt my vision fade to black at least once, but somehow I hung on and got through it." I give Mathilde a gentle smile. "Despite all the mishaps, Edward was still determined to put a date in the diary for our evening out. He didn't let anything, including me getting shot, stand in the way of us getting to know one another better."
"And look at you now, preparing to move in and start a life together…" Mathilde's expression grows wistful.
"Yes, just the two of us, plus one cheeky wyvern and a horde of angry neighbourhood cats wailing outside my window. It's a dream life!" I end my sentence with an exaggerated wink, making Mathilde laugh again.
I pause to take another sip of tea before shifting gears. "Shall we move on to more serious matters? We got so distracted with the magic conversation, I didn't get a chance to ask Trevor if he spotted any concerning behaviour among the cast or crew. Did he mention anything on his way out?"
Sabotage at Somerset: A charmingly fun paranormal cozy mystery (Oxford Key Mysteries Book 4) Page 7
